MU Endeavour: Janus
by Rigil Kent
Summary: In the Mirror Universe, war with the Romulans looms and the plans of Captain Charles Tucker of the ISS Endeavour near fruition...
1. Teaser

**STAR TREK: _Endeavour: "Janus"_**

by Rigil Kent**  
>Genre: <strong>Action/Adventure, Drama  
><strong>Rated: <strong>PG-13 … language, violence, and adult situations.  
><strong>Summary: <strong>In the Mirror Universe, war with the Romulans looms and the plans of Captain Charles Tucker of the ISS _Endeavour _near fruition...

**Disclaimer: **Insert witty non sequitur here about me not owning a damned thing.

**Author's Note:** This is a Mirror Universe fic using many of the MU alternates of characters previously introduced in my various _Endeavour _fics_. Janus _takes place after the events of _In a Mirror Darkly_. It might be a little difficult to follow without reading them first. Like my previous fics, I'm writing this as prose and using the basic screenplay format (Teaser + 5 acts).

The revised look of the _Endeavour _was originally developed by Mark Ward for the NX Class Mod Pack for _Bridge Commander_, although it was credited as the NCC-05 _Atlantis._ Mr. Ward has graciously given me permission to use this "skin" for the look of _Endeavour – _if I had discovered this thing _before _writing _Vigrid_, the -06 would have looked like this all along.

This is another attempt to _ignite _the Muse - I'm up to act 4 with this story and I know how it ends, but said Muse is being ... difficult, and I'm hoping publishing this and getting additional feedback will help convince her to allow me to finish.

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><p><strong><span>TEASER<span>**

The clank of boots upon metal warned her of her guest's approach.

Standing before the observation window of the construction facility that currently overlooked Jupiter, Empress Hoshi Sato the First turned regally, her hands clasped tightly behind her back. She was unworried should her guest attempt to assault her; a personal force screen belt scavenged from the _Defiant_ encircled her waist, and her First Prince, Travis Mayweather, was less than a meter away. He was walking death with or without weapons, and had at least seven on his person at all times.

Face set in a fierce scowl, Commander Charles Tucker came to a stop three or four meters away from her and crossed his arms. To her surprise – and secret delight – he did not genuflect like so many others did in her presence. There was no fear in his eyes. Mayweather's expression darkened at Tucker's calculated insult, but Sato shook her head slightly.

"You are late," she informed her guest, and Tucker snorted.

"So?" he said flippantly. "I was busy."

"When I summon you," Sato stated coldly, "You will present yourself to me at once."

"Or what?" Tucker asked. He sneered, and the scarring on his face only magnified the expression. "You'll throw me in an agony booth?" Tucker nearly spat. "Death doesn't frighten me, _Hoshi_," he snarled, emphasizing her given name with contempt.

Sato nearly sighed. Since even before her ascension, Tucker had been difficult to control. More than any other person in the galaxy, she needed him alive to get _Defiant_ fully operational and he knew it. Most of the primary systems aboard the starship were based on principles his alternate had developed, and Tucker had the only true insight into how that man's mind worked. On more occasions than she wanted to count, he had thrown that fact into her face, and remained unafraid of displaying open hostility toward her. Threats on his life only seemed to make him laugh. The continuing well being of a certain prisoner in Sato's control was the only thing that seemed to keep him in place, but even that was beginning to wear thin.

The engineer was getting dangerous.

"What do you want, Tucker?" Sato asked abruptly. From his place, Mayweather gave her a brief, incredulous look that she was bargaining with the recalcitrant engineer, but said nothing. He was good at keeping his mouth shut. "I need _Defiant_ fully operational by October," she continued, "and the only way that is going to happen is if _you_ are in charge of the repair crews. So what do you want?" She briefly considered smiling seductively, but he had never really seemed interested in her charms – not after T'Pol came aboard _Enterprise _– and the thought of taking him to bed was repulsive. His face had once been pleasing, but now? Now, she'd rather sleep with an Andorian than him.

"Two things," Tucker replied without hesitation. "One, I want my own ship." He gave the observation window a glance, once more sneering at the distant appearance of _Defiant_. "And not that thing. I want _Endeavour_." Sato hesitated at that; she had promised Reed the _Endeavour_. The MACO colonel could be assuaged with other things, though; the idea of him in charge of Internal Security very nearly brought a smile to her face, and she had long since learned that she could get Reed to agree to anything once their clothes were off.

"And the second?" she asked, already knowing what it would be. She wasn't wrong.

"I want T'Pol."


	2. Act 1

**ACT ONE**

**A/N:** Watch for language. The Mirror Universe is a nasty place.**  
><strong>

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><p>Lieutenant Commander T'Pol was dying.<p>

Her every muscle trembled as the _need _washed through her. Pain pulsed through her body with each beat of her heart, and she clutched the already sodden sheets closer, as if that could help. She bit her lip to prevent from howling, and could taste blood. Every nerve ending seemed to be on fire, and only one thing could assuage the agony.

Trellium D.

A cool human hand touched her forehead, and T'Pol heard a voice that was vaguely familiar to her. At any other time, she would have been able to identify the voice, but with the desperate need for trellium robbing her of sentient thought, she was simply glad to be able to recognize the gender of the male speaking. A second male answered the first one, and she recognized Charles Tucker's voice at once. He was her savior and her destroyer. She hated him. She loved him. She hated _and _loved him.

The hiss of a hypospray at her neck seemed to send a torrent of ice into her veins, and T'Pol shuddered as a diluted trellium solution entered her body. Almost at once, she could feel the withdrawal symptoms begin to diminish, and control slowly begin to return. She drew in a shuddering breath, coughing as she tasted blood.

"How much longer?" Tucker was asking, his tone furious. T'Pol shivered with arousal at the effect his voice had on her; it was the drug that was responsible, of course. She wouldn't be aroused by him otherwise. Except when he was angry. Or annoyed. Or perhaps...

"I told you it would take some time to break this addiction, Captain," the other male voice answered, interrupting her rapidly degenerating train of thought. She focused on the words, used them to claw her way back to sentience. "The Empress' agents were quite efficient."

Fury pulsed within T'Pol at those words, as fractured memories flooded into her mind's eye. Sato's laugh seemed to mock her, and T'Pol could still remember the emotional tidal wave that the initial overdose of trellium had caused. The logic behind Sato's actions was terrifyingly astute: by making T'Pol dependent on the empress for continued trellium injections, Sato would have established control over her Vulcan rival. Day after day, the trellium had been applied, and, day after day, T'Pol had felt her sanity slowly slipping away.

"T'Pol, can you hear me?" Tucker's voice was close to her, and the sensation of his breath upon her ear sent another wave of arousal through her. The fledgling control that she had gathered shattered as his wonderful scent filled her nostrils. She wanted to wrap herself around him, wanted to kiss him until he had no breath left. The memory of his hands upon her face, upon her ears, upon her breasts caused her to tremble, and she smiled lazily.

The impact of his hand across her face snapped her out of her addled memories, and T'Pol's combat-honed instincts sent her into a rolling spin away from the source of the unexpected assault. Her legs buckled the instant she tried to stand, and she nearly fell. Tucker caught her, and she glared at him.

"Are you with us again?" he growled, and T'Pol ripped her arm free from his grasp. She clutched the biobed quickly to prevent falling and gave the room a quick look. It was a human medical facility, she realized. Aboard a starship.

"Where am I?" she demanded, frowning in recognition of the other male. Arik Soong's reputation was, to say the least, a dark one, and she could vaguely recall seeing him at least once during her imprisonment.

"Aboard _Endeavour_," Tucker replied sharply. He was wearing captain's rank, T'Pol realized, and she wondered whether he deserved congratulations or condolences. "You've been here for a week," he continued, and T'Pol frowned at his words. She had no recollection of coming aboard this vessel, though her memory was currently shot through with holes. Her confusion must have been on her face as Tucker expounded. "I arranged it," he said, crossing his arms and glowering at her. She was surprised at how effective his glare was.

"Should I thank you?" she snapped peevishly, "or damn you?" Her head was still swimming, and T'Pol closed her eyes to fight the vertigo.

"I'm already damned, so I don't care either way," Tucker replied, his tone so indifferent that she had to open her eyes to look at him. "Doctor Soong is gonna help you break this trellium habit," he stated grimly, and T'Pol grit her teeth at the implication that Tucker was making decisions for her now. It meant something, but she didn't know what. "I need the competent officer that you were before you went muckin' about in the _Defiant's _computers an' lost your edge," he almost snarled. She blinked in surprise at the anger in his voice, and wondered if he had read his alternate's file as well.

"Why?" she asked, and Tucker gave her an incredulous look before shaking his head.

"In case you forgot," he growled, leaning forward over the biobed to put his face within centimeters of hers, "there's a war goin' on." T'Pol swallowed as his overwhelming scent once more assaulted her olfactory nerves. She hated that he could do this to her. "You're gonna be my second so I need you thinkin' straight," Tucker stated, and her eyes widened in surprise at that. It seemed inconceivable that Sato would trust her with such a position, given her previous affiliations. Tucker straightened, and fixed the silent doctor with an angry glare. "Get that damned drug out of her system, Soong." He said nothing else as he turned and departed the medical facility.

Eyes wide, she watched him leave. To her horror, T'Pol could feel his emotions dwindling as he put distance between them. It could only mean one thing, and she closed her eyes tightly to fight the terror that it sent through her. Her hands trembled as she clutched the biobed to steady herself, and the sensation of being observed sent a shiver up her spine. Soong was watching her, she realized.

"How long?" she asked as she opened her eyes and pinned the doctor with a heated look. He gave her a mocking smile.

"You've been in the Empress' less than kind care for nearly three years," Soong replied, and T'Pol felt her stomach clench in anger. Glancing down to hide her emotions, she drew in a sharp breath as she took in the appearance of her body. Her once trim figure was now almost skeletal, a victim of three years of constant abuse, and her weakened muscles trembled nearly constantly. Disgust swelled within her, and she fought against the urge to weep as she felt the need for trellium slowly begin gathering strength once more.

"The recovery program is going to be difficult," the doctor announced as he tossed a PADD onto the biobed in front of her. "We'll be slowly weaning you from trellium over the next three weeks," he continued in a bored tone. T'Pol reached for the data device, but paused as she caught sight of her reflection on a wall mirror. The despair and fury began swirling in her stomach as she stared at the stranger who looked back.

"Are you listening?" Soong demanded testily, and T'Pol looked away from the broken woman in the mirror.

"Yes," she replied simply. "Three weeks is too long," she declared. "Can it be reduced?"

"It'll be painful," the doctor pointed out, a wry smile on his face. "_Very _painful, but I think we can break the physical addiction within two weeks."

T'Pol nodded as she dragged herself back onto the biobed. Soong, she noticed, made no attempt to assist her. It was for the best, she decided. There was a great deal of work to do if she was to become self-sufficient once more, and she would not be broken again.

Never again.

=/\=

He had never expected this.

Nursing a glass of bourbon, Charles Tucker leaned back in his chair, immensely grateful for the opportunity to simply relax. It was a particularly comfortable seat, and had once been the command chair aboard a Vissian light cruiser. When _Endeavour _destroyed that ship for daring to smuggle weapons to members of the resistance, Lieutenant Commander Hess had managed to salvage the chair for Tucker's personal quarters. In the year since he had had it installed, Tucker had come to favor it over even the one on the bridge, and did his best thinking while sitting in it.

And he was doing a lot of thinking at the moment.

The lights in his cabin were deactivated, but there was enough ambient illumination from the streaking stars for him to see T'Pol. Asleep, she was curled up in a tight ball atop his bed, and it was immediately obvious that her dreams were anything but soothing. Her knees were drawn up to her chest, and she hugged them with both arms in a purely defensive posture that seemed intended to protect her more vulnerable spots. At intermittent intervals, she twitched or made distressed sounds in her sleep, and Tucker could see that her eyes were darting around underneath her eyelids.

He should have been happy at how miserable she was, but he wasn't. He should have been planning how he would get his revenge upon her for how callously she used and discarded him, but he wasn't. He should have been doing a lot of things ...

Feeling pity was not one of them.

Since her delivery to _Endeavour _nearly a week earlier, Tucker had been growing steadily more disgusted and infuriated with how she had been treated by Sato. Half-healed scars, some old and some quite recent, decorated the Vulcan's body, and T'Pol's once glorious physique was a shattered wreck. He doubted that she weighed more than thirty-five kilograms now, and the tremors that constantly wracked her body were difficult to watch. Even her eyes were different; where once before he had seen hidden passion and anger, now all he could see was muted terror.

Empress Sato had thoroughly broken her.

The discontent with the Empire that had been growing in him since even before _Defiant _swelled to new heights, and Charles swallowed his bourbon without actually tasting it. His eyes never left the body of the sleeping Vulcan as his mind raced. For three years, he had served Sato without hesitation, helping her crush the resistance and break the backs of the nobles who had run the Empire. The things that he had done in order to get T'Pol back would have caused the old Charles Tucker to quail in horror, yet the captain that he had become barely cared. On his orders, fission bombs and photonic torpedoes had been fired upon civilians. By his command, thousands of helpless victims had died in a maelstrom of atomic fire.

All in the name of an empress whom he hated.

His plan had been simple: assemble a crew loyal only to him and flee the Empire to parts unknown. He would take T'Pol with him to make her pay for what she had done to him, and would never again return to the world he no longer considered his own. According to the database that he had illicitly copied from _Defiant_, his alternate had commanded the _Endeavour _during their war with the Romulans, so it had made sense in a morbid way for him to be the captain of the same ship in this universe.

Assembling a crew that wouldn't turn on him wasn't easy, though, and, once again, he turned to the files stolen from the _Defiant's _computer for the names of people that his alternate had trusted. It was like reading a fairy tale about people that he knew, but had lived totally different lives. There was Heinrich Eisler, an ex-MACO who had died shortly after the second Xindi campaign under mysterious circumstances, or Anna Hess, whose career ended in tragedy after Galorndon Core. Or Daniel Hsiao and Marie Devereux, two officers who survived the war, married, divorced and married again. Or Colin Mackenzie, who disappeared from historical records prior to Cheron. People he could trust ... or at least, people he hoped he could trust. Some of them had certainly proven to be disappointments in that regard.

All of that went out the window when the Romulans attacked.

They had swept out of the Delphic Expanse in response to pleas for aid from their distant cousins on Vulcan. In three days, the Terran Starfleet lost more ships than had been destroyed in the entire rebellion, and the angry human populace rallied behind Hoshi Sato, the warrior-empress who commanded a devastatingly powerful warship. Entire worlds burned, and the Romulans were steadily forced back into the Expanse, unable to combat the Empire's tenacious aggression and overwhelming numbers.

A plaintive whine emerged from the unconscious Vulcan on his bed as she fought against her nightmares, and Tucker frowned darkly. The scar that covered half of his face began to itch, and he pressed the half-empty glass of bourbon against it as he stared silently at T'Pol. Cold fury simmered in his stomach at what had been done to her, and he wondered at the anger, unable to fathom exactly why her abuse enraged him so. After all, hadn't he wanted to do worse to her? How many had died because she had tried to destroy _Defiant? _How many loyal soldiers of the Empire had perished because she had been a traitor? Good men, like Captain Forrest or Admiral Black, had lost their lives because of her.

He brightened slightly when he reflected that Archer had died too. At least some good had come out of her betrayal.

_Why the hell do I care? _Tucker asked himself. He had been musing over that question since the empress had finally turned T'Pol over to him. By all rights, he should have waited until the bitch was conscious and aware before blowing her out of the nearest airlock. She was a traitor who wouldn't hesitate to stab him in the back, or screw with his head. The Vulcan had been nothing but trouble since even before the "favor" he'd done for her, no matter how unbelievably fantastic the sex had been. And yet, like a damned fool, he had kept coming back for more, no matter how many times she treated him like dirt.

He emptied the glass, and reached for the nearby bottle to refill it.

Inevitably, his eyes returned to the sleeping Vulcan, and Tucker exhaled in frustration. It would be weeks before she could begin serving as the executive officer, perhaps even months. Soong had been grim regarding T'Pol's current situation: weaning her off of the trellium would be time consuming, and if there was one thing they _didn't _have, it was time. With the Romulans now on the defensive, Starfleet would be taking the war into the Expanse and conducting reprisal raids against the aliens who had assisted them. The Xindi, for example, or the Illyrians. Such a campaign would be long and brutal, with a limited chance of survival and even lower odds of success. With T'Pol finally aboard, Tucker suspected that Hoshi would appoint him to spearhead the campaign, no doubt hoping that he would die in the attempt.

It was ironic, Charles mused as he drained the glass and set aside, that he wanted T'Pol back on her feet so she could help him survive the coming conflict when she had made it abundantly clear that she didn't care if he lived or died. How the hell could he trust her after what she did to him?

"You're a goddamned fool," he muttered to himself angrily, as he watched her begin trembling once again. Only a fool would want to protect the woman who had raped his mind and tried to have him killed. Only a fool would hope that she would forgive the depredations inflicted upon her or her people by his fellow humans.

Only a fool could hope that she would love him like the other T'Pol had loved her Charles Tucker.

He reached for the bourbon.

=/\=

The smell of bourbon was on his breath.

With a soft gasp, Lieutenant Commander T'Pol snapped awake, her muscles tensing as the distinctive stench assaulted her olfactory nerves, and, for one horrifying second, she was back in her cell, shackled, drugged and unable to resist as the latest of Sato's guards enjoyed himself. Her heart thudded wildly, and she struggled against the warm weight that rested against her back. It gave way with a grunt, and rolled away, muttering something that she did not comprehend. The voice, however, she recognized at once.

Tucker.

Glancing around, T'Pol studied the cabin with wide eyes, chastising herself for her lack of control. It was to be expected though; three years of constant trellium exposure had ravaged her neural pathways to the point that, on some days, it was all she could do to keep from sobbing as the violent emotions that were the legacy of all Vulcans swept through her. Hugging her knees to her chest, T'Pol focused on her whitespace, and desperately tried to push aside her fear.

Anger washed through her then, hot and fast as it temporarily burned away the terror that had become her constant companion. Hate was counterproductive, she tried to remind herself, but the realization of how far she had fallen only fueled her rage. In that moment, there was nothing more that T'Pol wanted than to see the scourge of humanity wiped from the universe. They were a disease, a blight on the galaxy that grew more bloated and fearsome with each passing day. Their existence was absolute proof that no benevolent creator figure could possibly exist, for what sort of monster would unleash such fiends upon the rest of the universe?

The sound of Tucker's gentle snoring drew her attention, reminding her that not all of them were abhorrent monsters, and she pushed herself out of the bed that they shared. Her muscles were still atrophied from lack of use, and the resulting weakness caused her to stumble as she crossed the short distance to the oversized chair that dominated the cabin. Her legs cramped, but she persevered and lowered herself into the cushioned seat. The sight of the stars streaking by drew her attention to the viewport, and T'Pol felt an unfamiliar surge of emotion rush through her as one word leaped to mind: _free._

It wasn't entirely accurate, of course. She was still beholden to Tucker, though his intentions remained mystifyingly obtuse. When the captain transferred her to his cabin, she had been terrified that he expected her to serve as a sexual partner. Even now, T'Pol acknowledged that, in her current state, Tucker could easily overpower her and take her by force if he so wished. That he evidently had no such desires made him infinitely better than the guards whom Sato had delighted in assigning to T'Pol. The Vulcan shuddered, and tried to push her memories aside. They were in the past, and could not hurt her anymore.

She was free.

"You're awake," Tucker's gravelly voice sent a jolt through her, and T'Pol jerked her head up, realizing at once that she had drawn her knees up to her chest once more. She locked gazes with him and swallowed at the lack of warmth she saw in his face. Once, she would have known what he was thinking merely by looking at him, but he had changed in three years. He was harder, colder, and far more dangerous than she ever thought possible.

"I am," she replied softly, her eyes tracking him as he rolled out of bed. His chest had more scars on it than she remembered, and was more defined as well. Tucker grunted as he crossed his arms and studied her.

"Thought you'd need me to slap you to wake up from the trance," he commented, and T'Pol shook her head slightly in response. She had not expected him to know about a healing trance, but he had surprised her once again. Not for the first time, she regretted underestimating this man. She vowed not to do so again.

"It is not always the case," she revealed, unsure of how much to tell him.

"Did it help?" Tucker asked, his expression impossible to read. The trance had been the reason that he gave to her for transferring her to his quarters; he knew how exposed she would be while in sickbay, and, more than anyone else aboard _Endeavour_, he understood how vindictive Hoshi Sato could be.

"Somewhat," T'Pol answered cryptically. She didn't want to tell him that it had been incredibly difficult to reach the proper meditative state, or that too many of her neural pathways had been damaged for such a healing trance to be very effective. If anything, she felt even more discouraged than when Soong had outlined the initial treatment regimen. The damage that Sato had inflicted with the trellium was appalling.

"Somewhat," he repeated. A scowl crossed his face. "That doesn't sound very encouraging." He reached back and depressed a button on an unfamiliar device. "Chamomile tea. Hot." T'Pol raised an eyebrow as a panel slid open on the console, revealing a steaming mug. To her further surprise, he offered it to her, before crouching before the chair. He was still nearly a meter distant, and T'Pol couldn't decide if he was too close or too far away.

"Thank you," she whispered as she sipped the tea. It had been a very long time since she had consumed anything that did not stink or taste of mold, urine, or feces, and the joy that accompanied the wondrous taste was difficult to suppress. _Free, _her mind exulted wildly. She could still feel his eyes on her, and recognized that he was waiting for more information. "The trellium damage is substantial, Captain," T'Pol stated, unable to make eye contact with him.

"I shoulda killed that fuckin' bitch," Tucker snarled under his breath, glancing away as he did. Fury that was not hers pushed against her fragile mental control, and T'Pol winced slightly. She closed her eyes against the onslaught of human emotion, and wondered how he would react when he learned that they were bonded. It had been unintentional, of course, and would likely be traced directly to her lessened control when they had mated the first time. She had been exposed to a virus that confused her body, convincing it that her bonded mate was entering pon farr, and, unwilling to mate with a repulsive Denobulan or any of the unappealing Vulcans crewmen, she had sought out the only individual aboard _Enterprise _whom she found attractive or discreet; he had, after all, told no one when he learned what she had done to Koss or why she had been forced to flee her homeworld in the first place. Tucker had been surprised when she showed up at his cabin in such an excited state, then eager, and T'Pol had been able to forget, if only for a few hours, that she was a second-class citizen in an Empire of Man.

"I need you," her mate declared, and T'Pol's eyes snapped open. His expression soured slightly, even as some emotion that she did not recognize flickered behind his eyes. "We're heading toward the Delphic Expanse," he growled. "Part of Taskforce Victory, or some such shit. It's a reprisal raid against the Xindi for supportin' the Romulans, and I need you as my exec before we get there."

"Why?" The question rolled out of her mouth before she could stop it, and T'Pol raised both eyebrows at the bitter snort of laughter that emerged from the captain.

"Because you need me as much as I need you," Tucker replied grimly. She drew in a startled breath, wondering if he had learned of the bond somehow. There had been no reference to it in _Defiant's _computer that she had seen, but it _could_ have been there. "When she had you delivered to _Endeavour_," he continued, "Sato announced that you had cooperated with the Empire against the resistance." His expression was sad, almost guilty. "Your mother officially disowned you before disappearin' into the Forge," Tucker revealed.

"I cannot go home," T'Pol realized aloud. Tears prickled her eyes, and she was suddenly angry at her lack of control. Sato would pay for this, she decided as she blinked the moisture away.

"Neither of us can," he grunted before standing. He towered over her, but she felt no fear. Whether he knew it or not, Charles Tucker would not harm her. "Sato hates the both of us," he pointed out, "so we need to work together if we're gonna survive." T'Pol blinked at the logical manner in which he offered an alliance.

"Agreed," she said simply, and the tension that seemed to be riding his shoulders eased slightly. It did not disappear entirely, but the change was obvious.

"I've already talked to Major Eisler," Tucker said, and T'Pol raised an eyebrow at the familiar name, "and he'll arrange a bodyguard for you when you're not here." The implication that they would continue to share a bed was obvious, but T'Pol did not comment. Here, in the captain's quarters, she knew that she was safe from the wrath of those who would hate her. She wondered, though, how many other members of his staff were this universe's version of those who had served under Tucker's alternate.

"What level of access do I have?" she asked, and the captain gave her a long, searching look. Though he said nothing, she presumed he was wondering if she would attempt to destroy the ship. Finally, he spoke.

"Unlimited. Computer!" A chirp sounded in response to his voice. "Command authorize: T'Pol. Grade: commander. Position: executive officer. Effective immediately. Command End." The computer beeped again.

"You are putting a great deal of trust in me," T'Pol stated, and he glowered.

"I've got no choice," was his bitter reply. He pressed his tongue up against his cheek, and she could almost feel his thoughts racing. Abruptly, he leaned toward her, invading her personal space and putting his face within centimeters of hers. "And before you start thinkin' about screwin' with my head again, this cabin is monitored twenty-four/seven." Anger caused his eyes to flash. "The two guards that are outside have explicit orders to shoot to kill if you try to meld with me again. Am I clear?" The emotion that coursed through her had a taste that was distinctly his, and, in that moment, she realized how much he feared telepathy.

"Yes," T'Pol replied calmly. He straightened, and studied her for another long moment. She met his eyes and did not blink. Finally, he nodded.

"Good." He turned toward the entrance to the bathroom. "And don't get too comfortable in that chair. It belongs to me." T'Pol made no reply as she watched him disappear through the doorway. The feel of his emotions slowly dwindled, and she drew in a steadying breath. Telling him about the bond would have to wait, she decided. His fear of telepathy was too great, and he would likely react poorly. There would be time later, once she had regained some of the trust that she had abused. Satisfied and strangely hopeful, she leaned back into the oddly comfortable chair. Instinctively, she drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs as she turned her eyes once more to the streaking starfield.

When Tucker emerged from the shower, she was once again asleep.

=/\=

He had been asleep when the summons came.

Standing with his back to the wall, Master Chief Petty Officer Colin Mackenzie schooled his features to stoicism. It was a difficult thing to do, appearing callously uninterested or even bored while a man was tortured to death mere meters away, but Mackenzie had nearly perfected the skill. Serving under "Black Jack" Stiles on the _Challenger _for six years had given him a strong stomach.

"Confess," Major Eisler growled to the crewman currently trapped within the agony booth. Wearing the distinctive black uniform of MACO Special Projects, Eisler was a terrifying vision of unrelenting purpose that immediately brought to mind the Inquisition. The major's face was impassive, as if set in stone, and literally could not form an expression of delight. Captured by Andorian separatists eight years earlier while on a covert operation, the major had been tortured by an expert utilizing a neural scourge. The nerves that allowed the human face to smile had been savaged, leaving behind an inhuman mask of flesh.

Not that Eisler ever smiled anyway.

"Confess," the major repeated as he paced in front of the agony booth. His eyes were cold and dead as they bored in Mackenzie's, and the COB knew without a doubt that the words had been meant more for him than the poor unfortunate bastard currently screaming for his mother.

"What exactly is Crewman Wu supposed to be confessing?" Mackenzie asked, and Eisler's eyes narrowed fractionally. The MACO did not get angry – Colin didn't think he'd ever seen the major _get_ angry – but there was no doubt that Eisler was unamused.

"He was apprehended attempting to break into the captain's cabin," the major stated coldly.

"Ah," Colin said. He smiled because he could. And because Eisler couldn't. "Wu is an inkmonkey," he pointed out, using the MACO slur for the personnel in the Administration division aboard _Endeavour. _"What was he going to do? Paper cut the captain to death?"

"The captain's quarters are off limits," Eisler rumbled, his voice low and sinister. It was an effort for Mackenzie to keep from swallowing the lump that abruptly appeared in his throat, but he could not let the major know that he was intimidated. "And _your _crewman isn't smart enough to try something on his own." The implication was unmistakable: the major suspected that Colin had links to this latest attempt on Tucker's life.

"Call me," Mackenzie replied, still smiling, "when you have something resembling proof."

He swept out of the armoury, and strode purposefully toward his cabin. If he walked a little more quickly than normal, then that was to be expected. Once he was safe in his quarters, Mackenzie sealed the door and activated the anti-surveillance devices that were littered around the cabin. Another long moment passed as he swept for additional bugs that may have escaped notice. Once satisfied, he collapsed into the desk chair and powered up his systerm.

"You have one chance for survival," the image of Major Eisler was saying, and Colin smiled tightly. He had been worried that the device he had planted would not function or that Eisler would immediately detect it. The resolution of the pict-image was poor, but sharp enough for him to make out the specifics. His good mood vanished as he took in how close to breaking Wu was.

"Who ordered you to break into the captain's quarters?" Eisler demanded. He was prowling in front of the agony booth, hands clasped behind his back. "Was it Mackenzie?"

In response, Wu began screaming again, and Mackenzie looked away from the image in discomfort. He was no stranger to death, but this ... this was inhuman. His eyes narrowing, the MACO major gestured sharply to the tech operating the agony booth; instantly, the young woman dialed down the pain emitters, and Wu's screams dwindled away to nothing. Gasping for breath, the crewman slumped forward, still conscious but in horrible pain.

"Do you know what this is?" Eisler asked softly. He pulled an articulated metal gauntlet from an average-looking box. Each digit ended with a long, needle-like spike, but it otherwise looked as if it could have come from a suit of archaic plate mail. "This is an Andorian neural scourge," the major continued matter-of-factly as he pulled the heavy gauntlet onto his right hand. "It is an object intended for one purpose: acquiring truth." He stepped close to the agony booth. "With this device, I can directly stimulate the truth centers of your brain. You will not be _able_ to lie. It is quite ... painful. In the hands of an expert, it can result in an eternity of pain that never ends." Eisler nodded once more to the technician operating the booth, and the clear plexiglass shield slid open, allowing the major access to Wu. "Now," the MACO growled, "who ordered you to break into the captain's quarters?"

A stricken look crossed Wu's face as Eisler loomed forward. The crewman's jaw worked for a moment, and he shivered abruptly. A muted pop sounded, and Wu slumped forward, blood already trickling from his eyes.

_"Scheisse!"_ Eisler snapped, frustration stamped on his face. As the infuriated major whirled toward the tech, Mackenzie deactivated the image feed, and allowed himself to smile. He had been worried that the conditioning would not hold, that Wu would actually break, but Soong's work had been, as always, masterful. Under the most stringent examination, it would appear that Wu had suffered from an unfortunate but entirely natural stroke.

His smiled vanished almost instantly, and was replaced by a fierce scowl. Wu's failure set back the timetable even more, and Mackenzie glowered darkly at the now blank monitor. He shouldn't have been surprised at how quickly Eisler's commandos pounced upon the crewman, but he had hoped that Wu would have at least been able to plant the applicator on the keypad. It would have worked beautifully: Tucker would have been exposed to the contaminated trellium, and then once he came into contact with the Vulcan whore, the drug would have hopefully sent her into an insane rage. Such a pity that it hadn't worked...

Mackenzie's eyes drifted of their own accord to the picture of Allison Li that he kept on his desk, and his fury flared once more. She would still be alive if it hadn't been for Tucker, and Colin couldn't forgive the captain for that. It didn't matter if Ally shouldn't have been on the space station when _Endeavour _fired upon it, or that Tucker had tried to deal with the traitors on Vigrid Station without resorting to violence. It didn't matter that Li had defected to the rebels. All that mattered was who gave the order to open fire.

A chirp from his systerm broke into his dark musings, and Mackenzie activated it with a flick of his wrist. He blinked in surprise at the image that appeared; he had expected it to be Soong comming him to inform him that Wu had died.

"Sir," he said quickly while straightening in his seat.

"Report," came the harsh command.

"Wu failed," Mackenzie revealed quickly. "He's dead, and didn't link me to it." Colin struggled to keep his anger under control, but wasn't that successful. "I'll need some more time, sir. Tucker is well protected." That was an understatement; Mackenzie still hadn't figured out how the captain had earned Eisler's loyalty, but whatever it was he had done, it had turned the major into something akin to a fanatical follower. Colin seriously suspected that the major would jump out of an airlock if Tucker so ordered.

"You'll have the time. Our plans here have been delayed. Keep me informed." With a wry smirk, Colonel Malcolm Reed of Internal Security continued. "Long live the Empire," he said.

"Long live the Empire," Mackenzie repeated, even as the screen went blank. Leaning back in his chair, he began to think.

He had a murder to plan.


	3. Act 2

**ACT TWO**

**A/N:** Watch for language. The Mirror Universe is a nasty place. This act takes place about 60 days after the first scene of act one. Also, replies at the bottom.

And what the hell? went and changed the login stuff again! Totally freaked me out this morning.**  
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* * *

><p>This had not been part of his plan.<p>

As he stepped out of the bathroom and into his cabin proper, a towel wrapped around his waist, Charles Tucker drew up short at the sight in front of him. A frown crossed his face for a moment, twisting the hideous scar that destroyed his features, and he swallowed the pained emotion that pulsed within his chest. No, he decided, this was most assuredly not part of his original plan.

Curled up like a cat in the Vissian command chair, T'Pol was asleep. That wasn't particularly a surprise; Soong had warned him that she would be sleeping more than was normal for a Vulcan as she recovered from the trellium addiction. What was a surprise, however, was how entirely normal it appeared for her to be dozing in the chair. Somehow, in the two months since she had been delivered to _Endeavour_, the chair had become her domain, and Charles didn't even question how such a thing had occurred.

The domesticity of the scene sent a shiver up his spine.

Glowering, Tucker continued to dry himself before tossing the damp towel into a corner of the cabin. Doing so would annoy the Vulcan, and that was the only reason that he did it; normally, he was as much of a neat freak as she was.

As he dressed, Charles kept glancing in the direction of the sleeping Vulcan, a thoughtful expression on his face. She was looking much better, he had to admit. The trellium was washed completely from her system, and she had put on several kilos. Even her muscle tone was beginning to return, and she was finally beginning to resemble the woman he had first met (and lusted over) so many years earlier.

That resemblance, however, was only skin deep. Tucker's frown deepened, and he busied himself with his uniform to avoid thinking about the horrible nightmares that still woke them both late at night, or how she remained nearly phobic about her personal space. For some inexplicable reason, she allowed Charles to touch her without tensing, but he was the only one aboard _Endeavour _given that honor; Tucker wasn't sure if it was because they'd had sex before or something else entirely. Even Soong caused her to act skittish.

_Bad example, _Charles mused. Soong made _everyone _skittish. The man was just too damned creepy.

Uniform secured, Tucker turned his attention back to the Vulcan, all the while wondering how to define their relationship. They weren't friends, exactly, and they sure as hell weren't lovers, but T'Pol seemed to afford him a closeness that she never had before. It was as if she actually trusted him, or felt safe around him, but that couldn't be right. She didn't trust anyone.

Taking several steps closer to her, Charles found himself once more wondering what the hell he was doing. Why was her well-being so damned important to him? He glowered as he abruptly recalled her Vulcan mind tricks; could she have done something to him with her melds when they were on _Enterprise_? Was that why he was so willing (and able) to sleep alongside her when nearly all of his survival instincts were screaming for him to get away?

A PADD had fallen to the floor from the chair while he was in the shower, and Tucker bent down to pick it up. His eyes narrowed slightly at the title, and he gave her another weighing look. It was a copy of the _Kir'Shara_, a Vulcan text he had copied from the _Defiant's _database without permission. At first, acquiring a copy of an obscure semi-religious document from an alternate universe had seemed like a waste of valuable space, but as the military campaigns that Sato launched began stacking up, and the casualties began climbing, Tucker had turned to it and others like it for solace. He hadn't wanted to succumb to the kind of mindless brutality that had spawned monsters like Archer or Reed. Surprisingly, it had helped, and allowed him to put many of his actions and decisions into perspective. Yes, he had committed what the alternate universe would consider atrocities, but he had done so for the greater good. Without a strong Empire, the entire quadrant would collapse into chaos and conflict, and Charles didn't want to imagine what would happen then.

He still thought of himself as damned, but then, everyone in this godforsaken universe seemed damned, so he was in good company.

When T'Pol had discovered the document in his cabin over a week ago, Tucker had fully expected her to mock it, or scoff at some of the teachings contained within. Instead, she seemed utterly riveted by the alternate version of Surak's words, and had devoured the religious text like a starving man pounced upon a feast. Charles couldn't begin to imagine what sort of thoughts were running through her head, but it kept her occupied during the difficult recovery, so he paid it no further mind.

Straightening, Tucker deactivated the PADD and tossed it onto the bed. He gave T'Pol another weighing look, before grimacing and reaching for the quilt his long-dead sister had made for him decades earlier. The Vulcan barely reacted as he draped the worn covering over her, and that was probably for the best since Charles couldn't possibly explain what motivated such a gesture. _She's your weakness, _his finely developed sense of self-preservation screamed in warning.

Like usual, though, he ignored it.

The two MACOs standing outside his cabin snapped to attention when he stepped through the doorway, and Tucker gave them a quick once-over. Sergeants Kemper and Cole stood straight and proud under his examination, both poised to spring into action at a moment's notice. They wore the black uniforms that Eisler insisted his people wear, and were heavily armed.

"Let's go," Tucker growled to Kemper, before turning away. Cole would remain behind to guard the cabin.

And T'Pol.

The trip to engineering took less time than expected, yet Charles found himself growing more impatient by the second. _Endeavour _didn't feel right, and he had long since learned to trust those instincts, especially with them racing toward the Expanse at the head of an attack taskforce. They would be entering enemy territory for the first time since the Romulans attacked, and would need the ship to be in top shape.

As he entered the domain of his chief engineer, Tucker fought back a grimace at the uncomfortable memories that always accompanied a visit to the warp core. It had been one of these monstrosities that had scarred his face forever, that had led to Forrest allowing the damned Denobulan to grow a clone of Tucker to harvest its neural tissue, and had led to Charles being denied the chance to ever father children. The only place he hated more than this place was sickbay, and that was for entirely different reasons.

Hess wasn't entirely sober when he approached, and Tucker pushed down his anger. Even drunk, she was a better engineer than most, and he understood her hedonistic attitude toward life. Life was short when one was stationed in engineering, and very few ever got out alive. Sometimes, he actually let himself think that he was one of the lucky ones.

"We're operating at ninety-five percent, sir," the lieutenant commander reported. "All systems are green."

"Good." Tucker inhaled the too familiar smells of warp coolant, before pinning Hess with a hard look. She quailed slightly, recognizing his mood. "I need you sober and alert," he said softly, voice pitched so only she would hear it. "No booze, no stims, nothin'. Am I clear?"

"Crystal, sir." Hess blinked once, before continuing. "I'm sorry for disappointing you, sir." She couldn't make eye contact.

"You haven't, Anna." Charles forced himself to relax slightly. She was no longer the scared young girl he had picked out of a pressgang intended for the mines of Coridan, he reminded himself. "Get Soong to help you clean up."

"Yes, sir," Lieutenant Commander Hess replied. Tucker turned away, and nodded for Kemper to fall in.

The turbolift deposited them on C Deck, and Charles found himself growing even more frustrated with the necessity of these inspections. Normally, this was the job of the executive officer, but since his previous XO had experienced a sudden case of death while trying to remove Tucker from the equation, and T'Pol wasn't yet up to the task, Charles had been making the rounds himself. He was looking forward to when he could turn this task over to the Vulcan.

A beam of light flashed toward them unexpectedly, slicing into Kemper's neck with such power that it very nearly decapitated the MACO. Even as the sergeant was beginning to topple, Charles was diving for cover, ripping his own weapon free in the process. Two more pulsed plasma blasts screamed past him, exploding upon the nearby bulkhead in a shower of sparks. Checking the setting on the phaser he had taken from _Defiant _over three years earlier, Tucker grit his teeth and darted from his poor cover, spraying the corridor with suppressive fire as he ran. There were two of them, he realized as he ducked behind an unsealed pressure door to avoid their counterfire. Based on their accuracy – or rather, their general lack thereof – he knew that he wasn't dealing with MACOs.

One of the two dashed into the open, a plasma pistol barking as the man gambled on volume of fire instead of accuracy, but Tucker was waiting for him. The phaser braced, he squeezed off a single shot at his target. A horrified expression crossed the man's face in the half-second it took for him to be rendered into subatomic particles.

The sound of something sliding across the deck drew his attention, and Charles felt his breath catch at sight of the explosive. A half second later, it detonated.

=/\= =/\=

The explosion could be felt through the ship's deck plates.

Instinct woke Commander T'Pol, and she sprang to her feet even before she was fully conscious. A blanket had evidently been draped over sleeping body and briefly fouled her footing, causing her to spend an unnecessarily long moment extricating herself from the object. By the time she had done so, Sergeant Cole had entered the cabin.

"There's been an attempt on the captain's life," Cole informed her, and T'Pol felt her breath catch in mild fear. On the heels of that, however, was a rush of murderous anger that someone would dare assault her mate. It very nearly washed away her control, and she took a step toward the door. She would kill them, T'Pol fumed. All of them. With her bare hands.

"The major is moving Captain Tucker to sickbay," Sergeant Cole relayed, one hand touching the hands-free communicator in her ear.

"Then that is where we are going," T'Pol said simply. Cole studied her for a moment, before nodding sharply. It was one of the reasons that T'Pol preferred having the sergeant as her primary bodyguard; Cole did not question T'Pol's instructions, and generally obeyed without hesitation. Their dispositions were also surprisingly similar, and given Cole's gender, T'Pol did not feel quite as ... threatened as she normally did around other security officers.

"Ma'am." Cole pulled her sidearm free of its holster and offered to T'Pol. "Just in case," she stated, and T'Pol nodded as she accepted the weapon.

A pair of black-shirted MACOs joined them during their short trip to sickbay, and T'Pol found herself clenching the pistol more tightly than entirely necessary. Apart from Tucker, she was uncomfortable around males of any species, and the coldness in the eyes of the two armed men brought to mind some memories she'd much prefer to forget. Sato would pay, T'Pol told herself, even though she had no desire whatsoever to ever be within a light year of the human empress.

They swept into sickbay to discover Tucker sitting upright on a biobed, a foul expression on his face. His frown darkened at T'Pol's appearance, but he made no comment, instead focusing the extent of his ire at the doctor. Soong was studying the data readouts with a wry smirk that didn't touch his eyes.

"Apart from considerable tissue bruising," the doctor pronounced, "You appear to be in good shape, Captain."

"Wonderful," Tucker growled. His attention shifted to the silent Major Eisler. "Well?" he asked.

"Both were recent transfers from the _Taymūr_," the MACO officer stated. "The crewman who deployed the explosive was killed during capture." As he spoke, Eisler's eyes – and his hostility – never seemed to waver from the master chief petty officer standing on the other side of the captain. T'Pol glanced between the two, noting at once how their respective body languages spoke of hatred and fury. "I am launching a _full _investigation now," Eisler continued, his words seemingly directed more toward the master chief than Tucker, "and I _will _find out who was behind this."

"You do that," the captain ordered sourly. "Anything else?"

"Until the situation improves," the major replied, "I'm going to double your guard." His eyes shifted to T'Pol, and she tensed at the lack of emotion she saw there. It was as if he had completed the _kolinahr _ritual, or perhaps was entirely a biomechanical construct. "_Both _of your guards."

"Fine." Tucker gestured. "Dismissed." Like a pair of angry sehlats, the major and the master chief kept a wary eye on one another as they filed out of the medical facility. At T'Pol's nod, Sergeant Cole and the other MACOs took up a protective stance just outside sickbay; the sergeant kept her eyes on the doctor, even through the transparent door. "What is it, Soong?" the captain asked, surprising T'Pol slightly. She had not perceived any indication that the doctor wished to say something to Tucker.

"My preliminary examination of Crewman Gonzalez indicates that he was killed by a single plasma burst to the head," the doctor revealed.

"Execution style," Tucker muttered, and Soong nodded.

"There are also trace elements of combat drugs in his system," the doctor continued. "The kind that are fed to MACO Special Projects assault teams."

"Or Internal Security sweeper groups," the captain pointed out. "You can make those sort of drugs, can't you, Doctor?"

"Probably," Soong replied, once more wearing his wry smile. "You need to get some rest, Captain."

T'Pol said nothing as she accompanied Tucker from sickbay, although she could almost sense his thoughts racing. He was making plans, she realized. It was a side of him that she barely recognized, and one that made her seriously regret not seeking him out when she tried to destroy _Defiant. _He had never concealed his disdain for the Empire while aboard _Enterprise_, and she wondered how things would have turned out if she had recruited his aid instead of abusing his trust.

"You don't trust Soong," she said once they were alone in their cabin. And when, she wondered, had it become _their _cabin instead of his?

"I don't trust anybody," Tucker retorted with a wince. He was no longer moving as quickly, and now shambled forward as if in great pain. Slowly, he began removing his uniform. "But I _definitely _don't trust him."

"Then why rely on him?" T'Pol asked with a frown. She disliked not having all of the pieces of the puzzle.

"Because he's predictable," the captain said as he tossed his uniform jacket into a pile of dirty clothes. "Soong will do what is best for Soong." His undershirt came off, and T'Pol bit back a gasp at the fierce-looking bruises that covered his upper body. Tucker's exaggerated movements suddenly made sense. He disappeared into the bathroom, and seconds later, the sound of the shower began.

Not for the first time while in Tucker's presence, T'Pol experienced a moment of confused indecision. She spent a long moment calculating her next move. Once she had determined her course of action, there was no hesitation.

Tucker visibly jumped in surprise when she joined him in the shower. His good eye widened as he took in her nudity, and his body reacted exactly as she expected it to. Part of her was trembling in fear at the idea of being in such proximity to a naked male given her recent abuse, but a greater part wanted to pounce on him. Her body, her mind, her _katra _demanded his touch. He was her mate, whether he knew it or not, and there was no doubt that he wanted her. She could feel it thundering through the bond, and could see it in his body.

"Turn around," she ordered, her voice husky with their mutual arousal. He obeyed, shivering as she began to slowly wash his bruised back. T'Pol took her time, carefully avoiding the worst of his injuries. Her hands stroked his skin, finding the neural pressure points that would enhance his pleasure of the moment, and she felt him tremble under her touch. With a gentle nudge, she pulled him to face her. Their eyes met, and T'Pol could feel evidence of his arousal brushing against her leg. She took a step closer, her lips eager to taste his.

"No," Tucker growled. He backed away faster than she thought possible, and was out of the shower before she fully realized what he was doing. Human fury washed through the bond, sweeping away the arousal, and T'Pol winced at the force of the emotion. She pursued, pausing only to deactivate the shower, and strode into the living section of his cabin without bothering to cover herself.

"Captain," she began, and Tucker pinned her with a furious look. She could see that his body was still aroused, but his mind was simmering with rage.

"Put some damned clothes on," he snarled. "And don't ever do that again."

"I don't understand," T'Pol said, confused. "You want-"

"Enough!" Tucker roared. Even as he was glaring at her, the door of the cabin slid open, and two of the MACOs – Cole and a male that T'Pol did not know – leaped in, weapons drawn. "Get out," the captain snapped, and the two nodded in obedience. As they disappeared through the door, T'Pol could see both of the soldiers sneak amused glances at her and Tucker's nude forms. There was little doubt what they rightfully assumed had been happening.

"I can't trust you, T'Pol," her mate said grimly. "I can't trust you not to screw with my head after we..." His voice hardened as he trailed off. "So don't try that again." He turned away, limping toward the bed. Confused and angry at herself, T'Pol returned to the bathroom to dress. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, and wondered who she was.

And when, she wondered, had Tucker's trust become so important to her?

=/\= =/\=

Nothing was more important to Heinrich Eisler than trust.

For members of Special Projects, it was the cornerstone of their lives. The bond that grew between the MACOs who served in the Blackshirts was one forged on the battlefield and tempered with blood. No one who had not served in Special Projects could possibly understand, and it was why Eisler trusted only one man outside of his team.

Arik Soong was _not _that man.

"You're sure about this?" Heinrich demanded, and Soong smiled that insufferably smug smile of his. It was the same look of amused condescension that the doctor had given when Captain Tucker ordered him to use information gleaned from the _Defiant _to cure the Krupitzer's Syndrome that had been, until that moment, systematically destroying Eisler's body.

"Absolutely," the doctor replied. He offered Eisler a PADD. "All of my findings are here. You can check them if you like." There was no mistaking Soong's implication, that he thought Eisler wasn't smart enough to comprehend the notes.

"I will," Heinrich said as he took the data device. "The possession of combat stims by anyone other than MACO combat teams is illegal under Imperial law," Eisler growled. "How did two crewmen acquire them?"

"For once, my good Major," Soong smirked. "you've asked me a question that I have no answer for." The doctor leaned back against one of his biobeds and crossed his arms. "Perhaps you can ask Commander T'Pol. I understand she has quite the history of participating in illegal activities."

For a full six seconds, Eisler considered the possibility that the Vulcan might be behind this attempt. She had motive, after all, and more than enough anger to fuel thoughts of revenge. One of his contacts on Earth had acquired classified recordings made of the commander during her incarceration, and Heinrich had forced himself to watch each and every one of them. Not out of some sort of perverse pleasure, of course; his pain and pleasure centers had long ago been burned out by an Andorian torturer, the same alien who had destroyed Eisler's ability to smile, and even before then, he would not have derived any enjoyment from watching such vile actions. No, he had studied those recordings so as to identify the men (if they could be called that) whom the empress had sent to rape the Vulcan in the event that he ever managed to encounter them in the future. Already, he had … dealt with one such individual who had the unfortunate luck of being assigned to _Endeavour _prior to the launch of this task force.

On the heels of that, however, came the memory of other recordings that Heinrich had watched in his capacity as security chief of _Endeavour._ By direct order of Tucker himself, the captain's cabin was monitored every second of the day, and Heinrich had spent more than a few hours watching Tucker carefully attend the Vulcan during her slow and horribly painful recovery from the forced addiction. In recent weeks, Eisler had even seen T'Pol studying the sleeping captain with an unusual expression on her face that betrayed her confusion and emotions. She may hate humanity in general – something she happened to share with Eisler – but there was no denying that Tucker was rather obviously an exception to that hate – something else that she shared with Heinrich – even if she didn't quite understand what she felt for the captain.

No, he decided, Commander T'Pol was definitely _not _behind an attempt on Tucker's life.

"The commander is not a suspect," Eisler stated flatly, bristling slightly at the almost indifferent shrug that Soong gave him in response. "You, however, are." The smug smile returned slightly, as the doctor gave him a wide-eyed look of innocence. "As a member of the Imperial Medical Corps, you have the knowledge and skill to manufacture combat stims," Heinrich said. "Further, your primary training is as a geneticist," the major continued, "and prior to your assignment to _Endeavour_, you were acting as chief director of Cold Station Twelve."

"I am well aware of my qualifications, Major," Soong replied. He was still smirking, as if this entire situation was a joke. "And I think you underestimate me. If I had manufactured combat drugs for persons aboard this ship, they certainly wouldn't as primitive as _that_." He gestured to the PADD that Eisler held, contempt in his voice. "So unless you intend to throw me into your quaint little agony booth," the doctor said, "I need to return to the project that Captain Tucker assigned me."

With another mocking smile, Soong turned and walked to his laboratory equipment where he began bringing up files on his systerm. Heinrich's eyes narrowed fractionally at the calculated insult, but he said nothing once he verified that the doctor was, in fact, working on the captain's special assignment. Data acquired from their last engagement with a Xindi craft was proving to be invaluable for the project, and Eisler hoped that Soong would have a prototype ready soon.

Heinrich couldn't wait to test it.

"Inform the captain," Soong said abruptly, still hunched over his lab equipment, "that I need more of the sample if this is going to work." Eisler nodded, and exited the sickbay.

In the Armoury, his investigative team was already assembled and hard at work unraveling this latest attempt. Eisler had handpicked each of them, and knew everything there was to know about them. He knew their sexual preferences, whom was sleeping with whom, their favorite foods, and the history that led to each and every one of them to become Special Projects. There were no secrets in the Team.

"Report," he ordered as he approached, and the entire team snapped to attention.

"Security cams are now back online, sir," Sergeant Reynolds began, a fierce scowl on his scarred face. Much like the now implacable Sergeant Cole, Reynolds had once been a juicejunkie prior to enlistment, and it was during that time that he had gained the hideous scars that ruined his features. "We did a hard reboot of all systems, and pulled the back-ups," the sergeant continued grimly. "The entire system was compromised."

"I've never seen a virus like this," Corporal Hensen elaborated. The computer and sensor operator, he had been a webdancer in DataWatch prior to enlistment in the MACOs; tasked with the job of defending the Empire's computer systems from slicers and hackers, Hensen had made a mistake and read a file he should not have. Given the option of execution or MACO Special Projects, he chose the later, and no one was more surprised that he survived the lethal training regimen than Hensen himself. "If I didn't know that it was impossible, I'd say that this was some sort of AI with virus-like qualities."

"Which explains how our internal sensors lost track of the captain," Reynolds continued. "We've found six other major discrepancies in our records." He glowered at the briefing table. "Sir, I have no idea how this virus was uploaded," the sergeant said apologetically. In any other department in the Fleet, that would have likely led to Reynolds being punished, but not in the Team.

"And the two dead crewmen?" If it was possible, Eisler would have been frowning.

"No ties to anyone aboard _Endeavour,_" Reynolds replied. "I've got Hensen doing a full background sweep." Heinrich glanced at the corporal.

"Four days, maybe five," the young man said apologetically. "I can halve that if you want me to go in broadsword." Eisler gave him an uncomprehending look, and Hensen explained. "I mean without trying to cover my tracks. I'm trying to keep from alerting anyone that I'm looking into these guys. If they were IntSec, their records will be monitored all the time."

"Low profile," Eisler ordered, before glowering at his assembled team. "When I accepted this job," he growled, "it was with the promise that I would keep the captain safe." Crossing his arms, he continued. "Evidently, our previous example was insufficient." He was referring, of course, to the 'accident' that _Endeavour's _last executive officer had suffered after attempting to gain her own long overdue command by killing Tucker; Heinrich had pressed the 'OPN' button on the airlock controls himself, and he would never forget Erika Hernandez's look of horrified disbelief as she was sucked into the hard vacuum. "This will be the _last _attempt on the captain's life," he declared. "Pass the word to the other teams: if anyone so much as looks at the captain with a frown, that person is to be questioned."

"What about the COB?" Reynolds asked. The enmity between Heinrich and Mackenzie was well known; every member of the MACO teams shared their commander's distrust of the master chief. All too often, they were the ones who suffered when the master chief did something stupid. "Do you think he's behind this?"

"Don't you?" The sergeant had no reply to Eisler's question. "He is to be monitored at all times. Any questionable activity is to be reported to me immediately."

"Ghost or visible?" Sergeant Reynolds inquired.

"Let him know that we are watching him," Heinrich replied. He grit his teeth at some of the shackles that Tucker had put into place; all interrogations had to be approved by the captain, and just cause was required for each of them. It made Eisler's job more difficult, but did make Tucker more popular among the junior enlisted personnel.

"Major," the CSO said abruptly. Heinrich glanced in his direction, and Hensen continued, eyes still on his systerm. "Three crewmen just popped up on the data sweep. They have some tentative links to our dead guys. All three are inkmonkeys, but there are holes in their records."

"Bring them in," Eisler ordered, and Reynolds nodded. "Belay that," the major said almost at once as a thought occurred to him. If he could smile, Heinrich would have grinned maliciously.

He had a plan.

=/\= =/\=

This was most certainly not part of his original plan.

Strapped into the crash seat aboard one of the assault re-entry craft, Master Chief Petty Officer Colin Mackenzie tried to focus on the coming operation instead of his hatred for orbital insertions. His pulse, he realized angrily, was already racing, and he was gripping the stock of his pulse rifle so tightly that his hands ached. The sound of his breathing seemed inordinately loud, although he knew it was just an illusion.

With a sharp jolt, the ARC dropped from _Endeavour's _launch bay and screamed toward the planet below. It was little more than a rockball with a barely breathable atmosphere, more like Mars than Earth, and was home to a small Xindi colony of less than ten thousand. Mackenzie had been mildly surprised at Tucker's sudden order to deviate from their heading to assault this colony, but the part of the master chief that still tried to look at the captain's actions rationally recognized the wisdom of neutralizing potential reinforcements for the enemy. They were going into Xindi territory, after all, and it would also give Tucker an opportunity to evaluate the commanders of the seven other ships in the strike group.

For nearly two days, they had maneuvered and engaged the Xindi perimeter ships protecting the colony, destroying all of them before beginning an orbital bombardment that lasted another day and a half. Even now, the orbiting Starfleet ships were systematically pounding the planet's surface with their weapon systems.

"Two minutes!" the pilot of the re-entry vehicle shouted, and Mackenzie shifted his grip on the rifle slightly. Normally, he wouldn't even be part of a ground assault, but the MACOs had claimed to need someone with an engineering background on this operation, and Eisler had implied his doubts that Colin had the stones to volunteer. Not for the first time, Mackenzie had acted before thinking, and accepted the challenge.

On either side of him were two Admin crewmen, and their presence on the ARC when Mackenzie climbed aboard had nearly caused him to groan. Both were IntSec operatives who technically answered to him, but they were inkmonkeys and data pushers, not field ops. The only time they were supposed to set foot on enemy ground was long after it had been pacified by MACOs and orbital bombardment. If Colin hadn't already realized that this was a trap before he climbed aboard, their presence made it pretty clear.

With a jarring shudder, the ARC began twisting and sliding to avoid ground-based anti-aircraft fire. Energy beams and missiles crisscrossed the night sky, as the Xindi tried to hold their own against the rain of men and fire that fell from the heavens. Through the nearby viewport, Mackenzie could see the withering barrage of phase cannon fire and low-yield torpedoes that _Endeavour _unleashed upon the planet's surface to herald the MACO arrival. Explosions wreathed the colony's main buildings, ripping them apart with great plumes of flame and debris, and bathing the entire complex with a crimson hue.

It was beautiful.

They hit the ground hard, and the MACOs were pouring from the re-entry craft even before it came to a complete stop. Mackenzie was right behind them, his rifle at the ready, and darted forward in a low, crouching run, followed closely by the two Admin crewmen. Plasma bolts shrieked by his head like angry hornet, splattering against the reddish rocks that littered the landing zone. Xindi defenders – Primates mostly – could be seen in prepared defensive positions, and their weapons chattered nonstop as they raked fire across the LZ. Against pirates or marauders, they would have had no trouble.

Against the MACOs, they didn't have a chance.

Even as they exited the landing craft, Eisler's Blackshirts were returning fire with their more powerful weapons. Lethal streams of pulsed plasma ripped into the prepared positions, punching through the rock as if it was little more than a thin layer of cardboard. Every third MACO was carrying an automatic grenade launcher, and they sent dozens of high-explosive, anti-personnel ordnance against the enemy. Shrapnel from the grenades or torn free from the rock savaged the Xindi defenders, and sent them reeling, even as the ARCs turned their rotary pulse cannons against them.

A sudden explosion of concussive force slammed into Mackenzie's back and sent him tumbling through the air. He hit the ground with a thud, and slid at least a full meter. Stars danced before his eyes, and his ears were ringing. His helmet clattered to the rocky turf as he shook his head to clear it, kicking up a small geyser of reddish dirt as it did, but Colin didn't bother trying to recover it. He glanced around, trying to find his absent rifle, and horror washed over him at how exposed he was.

Xindi war cries snapped him back to the present, and Mackenzie sprang to his feet seconds before the first of the Primates reached him. To his surprise, they were carrying bladed weapons of some sort, and he narrowly dodged a wild swing that would have decapitated him. Colin's fist slammed into the Xindi's stomach, stunning the alien, and he shoved the staggered creature to the ground. A second Xindi lunged forward, but Mackenzie was waiting, and caught the alien with a powerful roundhouse that sent it reeling. A leg sweep dropped a third, and he kicked the fallen Xindi in the throat before ripping its weapon free.

The whine of an ARC rotary cannon sent Mackenzie into a diving jump mere seconds before the assault vehicle roared by overhead, guns ripping into the Xindi with gruesome results. Rock and flesh alike exploded under the onslaught, showering the area with a crimson mist. As the ARC climbed into the air, Colin scrambled back to his feet. Three MACOs approached, not even bothering to take cover. It was as if they were on a leisurely stroll, and not in a combat zone.

"You should be more careful," Major Eisler said coldly as he approached. His eyes drifted to Mackenzie's left, and Colin glanced in that direction himself.

Nothing remained of the large slab of basaltic rock that Mackenzie had initially sought cover behind, and smoke was still rising from the new crater that had replaced it. Of the two IntSec data pushers, there was no sign, and he knew, without a shred of doubt, that they were dead. It had been pure happenstance that Colin had survived; his initial position at the very edge of the rock formation had likely saved his life when the explosive destroyed the rock.

And not for a second did he think that Xindi fire had been responsible.

"I'll keep that in mind," he replied, his own voice frosty. Eisler grunted, though whether it was amusement or disappointment, Mackenzie couldn't tell.

"We've located the medical facility," one of the major's two guards suddenly announced. He was wearing a headset, Mackenzie realized, and had bulky comm gear on his back. Eisler nodded, his eyes never leaving Colin's.

"Secure the samples," he ordered, and Mackenzie frowned. What samples? "And fall back to the extraction points."

Less than five minutes later, they were racing back toward orbit, and Colin was still confused. Tucker was planning something, he realized, something that Eisler was a part of. Mackenzie glanced out the viewport and studied the burning Xindi colony with a frown. Another orbital barrage was beginning, this time with the clear intent of wiping the already shattered colony from the face of the planet. There would be no hint that any humans ever stepped foot on this planet.

For the first time, Colin Mackenzie was very, very worried.

* * *

><p>AN 2:

**KitBeast** - Re: limited interaction between species in the MU. That's actually intentional. The Terran Empire isn't interested in peaceful cooperation, only obedience to Earth, so every alien encounter in this will be hostile.

**BnB **- you flatter me.

**dialee **- There are some very minor tweaks as I discover errors and mistakes. As to #2, any contact between the two universes would have to be subtle else Kirk & Co. would know that the MU exists in "Mirror, Mirror" so I would not bet on that. Regarding the romantic thing, well, that's all Tucker. :P


	4. Act 3

**ACT THREE**

**A/N:** Watch for language. The Mirror Universe is a nasty place. This act takes place about 120 days after the first scene of act one. Also, replies at the bottom.

Sorry for my absence - first, I broke up with my Muse (she wanted a friends-with-benefits relationship, I wanted more, which meant it was time to move on) so I'm looking for a new one, and then, after Independence Day (the Fourth of July to you less historically minded folk), I was the victim of debit card fraud which cleaned out my checking & savings accounts. Yeah, my bank has made good on that and restored my monies, but talk about an inspiration killer...

* * *

><p>Charles Tucker was worried.<p>

There was very little evidence of it on his face as he leaned back in his command chair, but, with each passing second, he grew more and more concerned. It was to be expected, of course. _Endeavour _was at the tip of the spear, the vanguard for the entire strike group as they raced toward the subspace corridor that would carry them to within striking distance of the Xindi homeworld. Concealed deep within a nebula, it would shave weeks off of the already four month-long journey. And they needed every shortcut they could manage; this damned Expanse had already claimed two ships of the strike group with their hull-crushing anomalies.

Out of the corner of his eye, Charles noticed T'Pol shift fractionally at the science station and fought to keep a grimace off of his face. Nearly three months had passed since their aborted … encounter in the shower, and, per his order, she had made no further attempt to seduce him. Obedience to that directive hadn't stopped her from flaunting her nudity in his presence though, and each night when they retired, she climbed into their bed completely nude. More often than not, Tucker woke to find her halfway sprawled atop him like a lover or a living blanket, an almost proprietary grip on him. It made sleep difficult, knowing that she was there and oh so willing, and days went by when Tucker wondered why the hell he even bothered. Memories of his time in the agony booth and how callously she had used him strengthened his waning resolve in those moments, even as he tried to figure out _why _he fought against what seemed to be inevitable.

Sometimes, Tucker wondered if he was going insane.

"Status report," he demanded, mostly to get his mind off of the memory of how intoxicating the feel of her warm body against his was or how wonderful her hair smelled early in the morning. His words came out harsh and loud, perfectly reflecting his dark mood. A frisson of amusement seemed to wash across his awareness, and Charles ignored it. He was getting good at ignoring that particular sensation, especially since it had a completely foreign feel to it.

A _Vulcan _feel.

"All stations reporting ready," Lieutenant Devereux announced from her station. As usual, the communications officer kept her head down and her attention focused entirely on the small screen before her. Years earlier, when Tucker had first recruited her for this assignment, she had been almost frivolous; that had died alongside one of her lovers, the Andorian engineer Drahn.

"Weapon systems are green," Eisler stated. "Combat teams standing by for instructions." The major shot an openly hostile look at the master chief manning the DCO board and, when Eisler spoke again, a hint of heat entered his voice. "I've issued the lockdown order. Any personnel found in restricted areas will be shot on sight."

With effort, Tucker managed to keep from sighing in disgust. The ongoing strife between Major Eisler and the COB hadn't escaped his notice; even before Soong had most recently mentioned the conflict, Charles had been wondering what he should do to resolve the situation. T'Pol's solution was brutally simple: kill Mackenzie and make him an example for the rest of the crew. She had made no attempt to conceal her distrust of the COB. No matter how tenuous or circumstantial any evidence was, she sided with Eisler every single time there was a new incident aboard the ship. They made a terrifying combo, the major and the Vulcan first officer, and Tucker found himself agreeing with them more often than not. It _did _seem like it was only a matter of time before he'd have to kill Mackenzie and a preventive strike could save a number of lives.

Anger flashed through him then as Charles realized that he had finally sunk as low as the late and unlamented Jonathan Archer. After nearly two decades of trying to avoid it, Tucker was playing the stupid Imperial game. Sixteen years had passed since he first donned the uniform, and in that time, he'd seen the end result of the back-stabbing and political manipulation that seemed so intrinsically tied to promotion. Sure, he'd done his own share of blackmail, but that had been directed against a sociopathic empress in order get a measure of freedom that would otherwise be denied to him. Tucker suspected that he'd still be on Earth, shackled to _Defiant's _warp core with orders to reproduce technology a century beyond his comprehension if Sato had her choice. All he wanted to do was to get out of human space forever, to live out his final years on some uncharted world with a T'Pol he could actually trust to love. He blinked in surprise at that thought and wondered once more what the Vulcan had done to him.

Or why he kept allowing her to do it.

"Three minutes to target," the subject of his musing said, and Tucker nodded without making eye contact. "Multiple warp signatures detected within two light-minutes of the subspace corridor."

"Battle stations," he ordered tersely. Lights dimmed as the offensive and defensive systems began sucking up power. "Show me," Tucker told the Vulcan and the main viewscreen snapped to life.

Nearly a dozen of the now-familiar looking Xindi ships were weaving through the violet clouds of the nebula. All of them bore signs of heavy action, with blackened hull plating that could only have come from intense weapons-fire. As far as Tucker could tell, there was no sign of this wormhole they had been assured existed, and he gave his first officer a quick, sidelong look. Before he could even phrase his question aloud, she was replying to it.

"There is no visual evidence of the subspace corridor," T'Pol stated coolly, and Charles tried not to think about how she knew what he was going to ask. "Scans confirm its existence, however."

"Targets are moving to intercept," Eisler snapped. "One minute to weapons range."

"Send to all ships," Tucker ordered. "Engage at will." His stomach tightened in worried anticipation and he leaned forward in his chair. The sensation of being watched caused him to give T'Pol another glance; instantly, the tips of her ears darkened and she looked away, almost as if she were embarrassed at being caught. Charles frowned slightly at her unusual actions, but pushed it out of his mind. There was work to be done.

Proximity alarms began shrieking seconds before _Endeavour's _guns began barking out fire. Phase cannon pulses flashed through the void, slicing into the hulls of two separate Xindi ships. Torpedoes screamed from _Endeavour's _launch tubes and raced through the indigo clouds to detonate with fierce explosions; one of the Xindi ships was destroyed instantly as the anti-matter warheads vaporized metal and flesh alike. Debris from the shattered craft was sent spinning into the vast nebula as the ship broke apart under withering fire.

Before the Xindi ships could retaliate, five of the _Ares_-class light destroyers flickered into existence, deactivating their cloaking devices only in the half-second before they opened fire. Reverse-engineered from captured or destroyed Klingon and Suliban ships, the cloaks only seemed to work (officially, anyway) on the smaller, wedge-shaped ships, and were nearly impossible to penetrate with modern sensors. Their use had afforded Starfleet a massive tactical advantage in every single engagement since their deployment.

Suddenly under assault by multiple ships instead of the one they had detected, the Xindi defensive formation splintered apart as each craft went evasive to avoid destruction from unexpected quarters. The entire nebula seemed to light up with brilliant explosions as phase cannons and plasma pulses hammered home. Two more _Ares-_classes shimmered into view, bracketing one of the damaged Xindi ships with brutal precision fire that burned through its outer hull. The craft wobbled slightly, and then started to straighten its flight path when _Endeavour's _phase cannons raked fire across it with crippling results. No longer able to even power its hull plating, the Xindi ship became little more than target practice for the two _Ares_-classes on its tail.

And just like that, the battle was over.

"Damage report," Tucker demanded, though he knew it wasn't necessary. None of the Xindi ships had even managed to hit _Endeavour _with their own weapons, and he doubted that any of the smaller _Ares-_classes had suffered more than superficial paint scarring.

"No damage," Mackenzie replied from the DCO board.

"All weapon systems still green," Eisler announced at the same time. Charles glanced toward the science board and T'Pol answered his unspoken query.

"Nine Xindi craft destroyed, two crippled," she reported calmly. "The _Mao Zedong _and _Khan Singh _are maneuvering to board them."

"Lieutenant Devereux," Tucker said with a dark frown. "Send to the _Mao _and the _Khan: _belay the boarding action." It would mean the destruction of the two ships, but Fleet Command – which was to say Empress Sato – had been clear: no prisoners. This was a reprisal mission, not an information gathering one. "Mister Hsiao, resume our previous heading, maximum impulse."

"Aye, sir," Devereux and Hsiao replied in unison. The helmsman shot the communications officer a smile that she feebly returned before focusing again on her board. Charles narrowed his eyes at the interaction – he knew they were sleeping together, but something just didn't add up – and filed it away for future reference.

"T'Pol," he started to say, but the Vulcan again anticipated his instruction and reoriented the image on the viewscreen. A digital overlay appeared around the still invisible subspace corridor, mapping out its boundaries and giving Charles a sense of its size. He rolled his tongue along the inside of his cheek and realized he was gripping the command chair's armrests so tightly that his knuckles were white.

"Thirty seconds," Hsiao stated as _Endeavour _raced toward the unseen wormhole.

"Shields at maximum," Tucker ordered. A flicker of apprehension caused him to draw in a deep breath, but he ignored it. It didn't feel like _his_ thought.

"Curious," T'Pol murmured, and Charles turned his attention to her. No one else seemed to have noticed her comment.

"What?" he asked, and the Vulcan gave him her equivalent of a startled look, complete with raised eyebrow. Suddenly, he wondered if she had actually spoken or if he had imagined it.

"I am detecting unusual field fluctuations within the corridor," she answered.

"Ten seconds," Hsiao declared. Charles ground his teeth together and pressed the transmit button on the comm.-panel integrated into his command chair. There was no time to examine the fluctuations and he found himself praying that it meant nothing.

"All hands brace for impact," Tucker snapped.

Moments later, white light consumed them all.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

The flash of an exploding starship filled the viewscreen.

"Full evasive!" the captain shouted, and Commander T'Pol felt gravity push her deeper into her chair as Lieutenant Hsiao sent _Endeavour _into a stomach-lurching dive. T'Pol clung tightly to her board as the warship twisted and spiraled to evade enemy fire.

On the main viewer, debris and fierce explosions dominated the space around Xindi Prime. Everywhere she looked, T'Pol could see another hostile warship, weapon systems ravaging the smaller, less advanced Imperial taskforce. A mere four minutes and twenty-three seconds (Terran Standard) had passed since their arrival in-system, and of the seven _Ares_-class destroyers that had entered the lightfight alongside the _Endeavour_, only two remained. Both were under heavy fire at the moment and T'Pol doubted that they would last much longer. Aggressive combat maneuvers had been abandoned for solely defensive ones, and even they appeared to be of minimal effectiveness. It seemed inconceivable a third-rate military power such as the one fielded by the Xindi could possess such advanced weaponry.

Abruptly, one of the two remaining _Ares_-classes – the _Phillip Green _according to its markings – vanished in a fierce flash of blue-green fire as its warp core breached. There would be no survivors. Even before the ship completely broke apart, its pursuers were reorienting upon _Endeavour_.

"Hard about," Tucker snapped, his expression bleak. "Rig for silent running." T'Pol was astounded to realized that she could almost _feel _his thoughts racing as he stabbed the transmit button on the command chair comm.-panel. "Anna," the captain said quickly, "Stand by for gamma-two."

"Gamma-two, acknowledged," Hess replied from engineering. She sounded sober for once, and T'Pol fought down a surge of disapproval for the engineer; the woman had an unhealthy attachment toward Tucker and, in more than one instance, had displayed a barely concealed desire to mate with him. The captain seemed oblivious to Hess' interest, but T'Pol had noticed.

She always noticed.

_Endeavour _shook as the Xindi starships continued to unleash salvos of fire at them. A trio of sleek warships raced through the silent void, sliding into pursuit courses as their weapons continued to spit streams of sizzling light. They were smaller than _Endeavour_, but based on T'Pol's scans, were far more advanced than they had any right to be. An alarm abruptly sounded, warning of a confirmed target lock by the Xindi pursuers.

"Gamma-two now!" Tucker ordered as the ships opened fire. Lights dimmed and, to T'Pol's utter surprise, _Endeavour _vanished from visual and sensor scans alike. She looked up at the captain with poorly concealed shock on her face. "Hard to starboard," the captain added sharply.

"A cloaking device?" she asked. Based on the reactions of both Lieutenants Devereux and Hsiao, they too were unaware of the device's existence. Tucker shrugged, seemingly indifferent to the fact he had evidently solved one of the Empire's most difficult engineering problems and done so secretly, if the startled expression on Mackenzie's face was any indication. As far as T'Pol was aware, every expert in Starfleet had attempted to meld a functional cloak with an _Enterprise_-class hull, but had failed to make it work long enough to be of tactical use. Tucker's accomplishment aboard _Enterprise _had been considered an aberration, particularly since the Tholians had been capable of detecting the craft. Had he been holding back even then?

"Whatever works," her mate replied without looking at T'Pol as he spoke. "Countermeasures deploy," Tucker continued sharply. "Helm, stand by to get us clear of the target zone."

Pushing her surprise away, T'Pol refocused her attention on her sensor feed as six decoy ballutes were ejected from _Endeavour's _primary hull section. All six dove away from the Terran warship on random vectors, emitting just enough electromagnetic radiation to be noticed by the pursuing Xindi ships. Like ravenous sehlats, the Xindi craft pounced upon the decoys, weapon systems barking angrily.

"Come about to zero-zero-three by two-nine-seven," Tucker stated, leaning toward the sensor feed installed before his command chair. "Stand by for emergency warp speed." His eyes darted to T'Pol's, and she could feel how easily he reigned in his crippling fear. _Astounding_, she reflected, even as she wondered if he was drawing strength from her. More likely, she realized angrily, _she _was drawing upon _his _composure and control. "Status on lifeboats?" he asked, and T'Pol gave her board a cursory glance.

"There are none," she replied. "The Xindi appear to be targeting them as well."

It was the wrong thing to say, and T'Pol nearly recoiled at the fury that pulsed through the bond she shared with Tucker. He glowered at the image of the unremarkable planet that was the Xindi homeworld, and T'Pol could see his anger reflected in the face of the other humans on the bridge. Even Major Eisler, whose face was normally as emotionless as any Vulcans, stiffened at his station and narrowed his gimlet eyes.

"Is that a fact?" Tucker murmured softly, and T'Pol fought back the urge to sigh. Based on past experience with humans, she knew exactly what was coming: instead of retreating before a superior force as was logical, they would throw themselves into the fray with a suicidal frenzy in an insane attempt to avenge their fellow Terrans. Personal relationships were irrelevant and old hates would be temporarily forgotten as the humans gorged themselves in an orgy of mindless destruction. It was, at once, both their most telling weakness and their greatest strength. Some of the more successful rebels against the Terran Empire had learned to exploit this dangerous aspect of the human psyche to great effect; the Andorian recidivist Shran, for example, had excelled at losing battles but winning psychological victories that would allow him to escape.

Knowing what was to come, T'Pol tuned out the emotions thundering through her bond with the captain and focused on the task before her. An idea occurred to her abruptly, though she was unsure if it was her idea or Tucker's. Keying in a demand for data from her station's console, she examined the extent of defenses arrayed around the target planet seeking a weakness. Knowing _Endeavour's _design capabilities intimately assisted the process and it took her less than a second to identify the most efficient approach vector, one that would allow them to deploy their payload while still providing _Endeavour _with some measure of protection from the majority of planetary defenses. She had no desire to throw her life away on a senseless gesture of defiance or anger, not now when she was finally recovered from her captivity.

The feel of Tucker's eyes on her drew T'Pol's attention up from her datafeed, and she bit back a curse at her carelessness. In her haste, she had allowed her mental shields to slip and she suspected her mate had felt the brief mindtouch. How else would she have known what _Endeavour _was capable of?

"You have something for me?" he asked coldly. Tucker's eyes could have been chips of ice for all the warmth they exuded, but T'Pol exhaled softly in relief that his professionalism overruled his psionophobia in this moment. She nodded.

"A tactical assault vector," T'Pol replied, keying in the commands that would transfer the data to their appropriate destinations. The main viewer flickered and changed to a two-dimensional representation of her attack plan, and Tucker barely gave it a glance before nodding. Major Eisler, however, glanced up from his station with a glint of malicious approval in his eyes. Had he been capable of smiling, T'Pol suspected that he would be doing so.

"All stations," Tucker stated calmly, "Stand by for emergency maneuvers. Major Eisler, stand by to release our payload." He leaned forward slightly. "Lieutenant Hsiao, execute assault vector, maximum impulse."

"All decoy-drones disabled or destroyed," T'Pol announced. "Estimate maximum of forty-four seconds before detection."

"Time to target?" The captain's voice was tense as _Endeavour _raced closer to the planetary defense network over Xindi Prime. It was understandable, T'Pol reflected. A concentrated barrage from all of the weapons currently in range would destroy _Endeavour _in seconds. She could not help but to frown at the scan results of the nearest defensive weapon; it was entirely too advanced for the Xindi.

"Fifteen seconds," Eisler replied as T'Pol began tasking _Endeavour's _stellar mapping capability to track the alignment of the local starfield. A worrisome theory was beginning to weed through her thoughts and she wanted further evidence before presenting it to the captain. "Ten seconds," the major counted down. "Opening drop bay doors. Tracking telemetry reading green. Five seconds." Another chime sounded from his station. "Aft launch bays opening."

With a soundless flash, the four weapons were released. Two tumbled from the same drop bays utilized by _Endeavour's_ assault shuttles and two were ejected from the aft launch bay of the engineering hull. Cylindrical in shape, each was half the size of a shuttepod and bore multiple warheads, individually programmed to strike separate and distinct targets. It was not a new design: Vulcan had used similar weapons during the Ferengi Holocaust in the time of Surak the Terrible. What _was _new, however, was the payload on each warhead.

Micro-singularity generators.

Based on data acquired from the _Defiant's _computers, these generators had been developed by the Empire during T'Pol's captivity using the research of her alternate universe twin. When she learned of the existence of the weapons aboard _Endeavour, _T'Pol had glanced at their technical schematics only once. To her continuing surprise, she had experienced a deep sense of sadness that her alternate's research had been corrupted into weapons of mass destruction. Unable to explain her dismay, T'Pol had avoided examining the weapons or her thoughts about them in any further detail.

"Energy spike," she announced off her sensor feed. "The weapons have been detected." Major Eisler spoke at the same time.

"Payload One impact in three, two, one." A brilliant flash momentarily blanked out the main viewer, but just as quickly subsided. To a less discerning eye, there appeared to have been no change. T'Pol knew better.

"Planetary shield system has been disrupted," she reported, another frown working its way onto her face as she considered that. The very existence of such a shield had been an unpleasant discovery for the human fleet and led to some troubling questions. Even Earth, as advanced as it currently was, was incapable of maintaining a planetary deflector screen for any significant length of time. How could the Xindi, a proverbial backwater system in comparison, accomplish this task?

"Payload Two detonation in five, four, three…" Additional flashes lit up the main viewscreen as the warheads from Payload Two imploded in the upper atmosphere of Xindi Prime. The sudden formation of multiple singularity points within the mesosphere could only be described as catastrophic, and T'Pol maintained her focus on her datafeed instead. It was surprising, at the least, to realize she had no desire to watch the destruction of a world. _I've become weak_, she reflected darkly.

"Payloads Three and Four impact in three, two, one, impact," Eisler continued a moment later, his voice cold and devoid of any emotion. "All warheads have detonated." With a glance at her sensor feeds, T'Pol could see that the weapons had been more effective than anticipated. The airburst implosions of Payload Two had essentially robbed Xindi Prime of a viable atmosphere while the ground impacts had fractured both the continental and oceanic crusts of the planet. A mental image of Vulcan suffering the same fate flashed across T'Pol's mind's eye, and she blinked back a sudden swell of self-disgust.

At almost the same moment, though, T'Pol realized that _she _wasn't the one feeling self-disgust.

"Burn, you bastards," Lieutenant Hsiao murmured gleefully at the horrific carnage wrought by perverted science. To T'Pol, it seemed an entirely apt analogy to Terran domination of the Alpha Quadrant: Peace through obliteration.

"Stand by for emergency warp," Tucker ordered sharply, a fraction of a second before Mackenzie's DCO board began wailing.

"Engineering reports fluctuations in the warp field," the COB relayed. "ChEng advises against warp."

"Dammit," the captain snarled harshly. He was silent for a heartbeat. "Find us a place to hide," Tucker said, his eyes jumping to T'Pol. "Someplace we can make repairs in case we need to fight our way outta here."

"Acknowledged," T'Pol replied. "There is a gas giant within eight million, nine hundred seventy thousand kilometers of the system's star."

"A hot Jupiter," the captain identified. "Set a course, Hsiao," he ordered, before glaring at Mackenzie. "I want warp speed within the hour." Tucker stood. "And T'Pol," he added coldly, "We just got our asses kicked. I want answers."

=/\= =/\= =/\=

They weren't the answers he was expecting.

"Time travel?" Master Chief Petty Officer Colin Mackenze repeated with a startled expression on his face. "You can't be serious."

Along with the rest of the command crew – excepting Lieutenant Commander Hess, of course, who was hip deep in repairs somewhere in the bowels of the ship and Soong, who was probably pulling wings off of flies or something equally cruel in that hellhole he called a sickbay – Mackenzie was standing in front of the situation table as the Vulcan first officer explained the results of her findings. Nearly six hours had passed since the catastrophe that had claimed the entire battle group, and spending that much time at 'silent running' was already beginning to wear on the COB's nerves.

At his outburst, both Captain Tucker and Commander T'Pol glanced in his direction, giving him identical looks of disdain rooted in either the fact that he interrupted the Vulcan's dry commentary or, even worse, dared to question her ridiculous theory. Refusing to be cowed, Mackenzie crossed his arms and glared back. It was impossible not to notice the division of power in the command center as a result: Tucker, his Vulcan whore and their pet German assassin were on one side of the table, while on the other, Mackenzie stood defiantly alone. Lieutenants Hsiao and Devereux crowded opposite sidelines of this silent, undeclared war, with the former leaning toward the master chief and the latter halfway into Tucker's sphere of influence.

"He's right," Hsiao said. He was staring at the display with a sour look and unconsciously inched closer to where Mackenzie stood. Ever vigilant, Eisler's eyes narrowed fractionally, and the COB could almost see the helmsman be slotted into the tactical officer's list of probable enemies. A more cautious man would have chosen a less tense moment to signal where his allegiances were, but then,no one had ever accused Daniel Hsiao of having an overabundance of intelligence.

"Time travel is impossible," the helmsman continued, earning himself the Raised Eyebrow of Woe from the first officer.

"The Vulcan Science Directorate," Commander T'Pol retorted coldly, "has determined that time travel is_ quite _possible." She exchanged a quick, sidelong glance with Tucker that no one at the table was meant to notice.

But Mackenzie did.

His eyes narrowed at the implications of their unspoken interaction and he forced himself to re-evaluate his earlier thoughts. Despite the insanity of the entire situation, Tucker and T'Pol seemed completely comfortable with the notion that someone could travel through time, no matter how many laws of physics doing so would violate in the process. In fact, now that Mackenzie thought about it, he couldn't help but to recall how, when the Vulcan stated her theory, the captain's hand instinctively sought out the deceptively fragile-looking (but frighteningly advanced) beam weapon – the phaser, Tucker had once called it – that was on the older man's person at all times. It was as if they had personal experience with temporal displacement…

Almost at once, Mackenzie's thoughts jumped to the _Defiant_. Like most members of the Empire, he had simply assumed the warship was the culmination of Imperial technology, a product of one of the numerous hidden shipyards scattered throughout the quadrant. Now, however, he wondered if that was the case at all. Could that vessel, with its amazing abilities, actually be from the future? Could the Empress he had sworn to obey have deceived everyone when she made her grab for power?

It was a chilling thought.

"How far into the future?" Tucker asked with a dark scowl. He was staring at the Vulcan with an expression so intense that she shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

"According to my calculations," she replied smoothly, "three hundred and seventy-five Terran years."

"The twenty-sixth century?" Hsiao whispered. He looked sick.

"Just as importantly," T'Pol began once more, "I do not believe that we are in _our _dimension at all, but rather have traveled forward in time to an alternate one, a … mirror universe, if you will." She gestured to something on the screen – equations and formulas that made Mackenzie's brain hurt just looking at them – and continued. "Initial scans indicate that the frequency of atomic resonance for this dimension is fractionally different than what we would consider normal."

"Is it dangerous?" Tucker asked. The Vulcan shrugged – a purely human gesture that looked odd on her – and frowned.

"I have no way of knowing," she answered calmly. "Not without further study."

"How do we get back?" Hsiao wondered, voicing the question that was clearly on everyone's mind. "We just obliterated their planet," he said, "so I'd rather not be around when they start looking for us again." Mackenzie found himself nodding in agreement even as he wondered what would happen to the Earth of this reality. There _had _to have been some survivors from the taskforce taken prisoner by the Xindi.

"We must retrace our path to the subspace corridor," the Vulcan said. "Our velocity must exactly match what it was when we originally entered it in our reality."

"Is this based on any real science," Tucker asked, "or is it just your best guess?" T'Pol gave him a cool look that, directed toward anyone else, would have seemed scathing.

"I am using all available resources at my disposal," she retorted, a hint of heat leaking into her voice. "You are welcome to corroborate my findings however you wish." The captain studied her for a long moment, his lips turned downward slightly.

"So it's your best guess," he translated flatly. He glowered at the images on the situation table before looking up. "That's good enough for me," Tucker said a moment later. Once more, Mackenzie noted how the Vulcan reacted – an infinitesimal straightening of her shoulders that, on a human, would have indicated pleasure at the backhanded compliment. "Do we need to retrace our _exact _route," he asked, "or just as we enter the corridor?"

"I have no way of knowing," the commander answered carefully, "although logic suggests we attempt to replicate our route as carefully as possible."

The hiss of an arriving turbolift caused Colin to glance away from the situation table momentarily. Face and uniform covered with streaks of something filthy, Lieutenant Commander Hess approached wearily, a PADD in one hand. Her eyes were bright despite her visible exhaustion, prompting Mackenzie to suspect she was riding the wave of a stimulant. When he returned his attention to the situation table, he couldn't help but to notice how the Vulcan commander's eyes had narrowed. Her laser-like gaze was locked on Hess and every line of her body indicated disapproval.

And jealousy. That was interesting. _Very _interesting.

"Report," Tucker ordered. He was frowning once more, and Hess faltered slightly before straightening and offering the PADD.

"We're fully combat ready, sir," she said. "Port nacelle has a half dozen micro-fractures, but she'll hold warp factor four point five easily."

"And the cloak?" the captain asked. Once again, Colin felt a shiver crawl up his spine. How the bloody hell had Tucker managed to get a cloaking device to function with this hull? According to every one of the experts back on Earth, it was completely impossible! Even more frightening was that the bastard had accomplished this without Mackenzie finding out. It made him wonder what else Tucker had going that he was unaware of.

"It's drawing more power than we expected," Hess said as she leaned heavily upon the situation table. Commander T'Pol's nostrils flared – though Colin couldn't see why – and she took a fractional step closer to the captain. "At the rate it's burning through converters," she continued as she looked up at Tucker, "we've got two hours, maybe two and a half before they can see us again."

"Likely less," the Vulcan retorted calmly. She pressed a button on the situation table and the display changed from an overview of the ship to a system scan. "Xindi reinforcements have arrived and are establishing a sensor net obviously intended to locate _Endeavour._"

"They haven't detected us yet," Hess answered. She was clutching the table tightly and trying hard not to glare at the first officer. "We don't even know if they _can _detect us."

"I have already developed three methods to penetrate the cloaking screen with only the sensors aboard _Endeavour_," T'Pol said coldly. "It is illogical to presume that the Xindi, with significantly advanced technology, have not done the same."

"Agreed," Tucker said before Hess could reply. The engineer glowered and looked down, the muscles in her jaw dancing as she bit back the words clearly on the tip of her tongue. Colin made a mental note of the interaction – he had long been aware of Hess' driving need to please Tucker and had avoided attempting to suborn the woman for that reason. If she felt that she was being replaced entirely by a Vulcan, however, there was an opportunity…

The feel of eyes upon him caused Mackenzie to look away from the chief engineer and lock gazes with an unblinking Major Eisler. Colin barely managed to hide the stab of gut-wrenching terror that twisted his stomach into knots as the MACO watched him with an expression that immediately brought to mind a cobra about to strike. Eisler had said absolutely nothing during this briefing, instead opting to stand silently on Tucker's left with a face so cold it could have been chiseled from marble. An off-hand remark by Soong had finally revealed how Tucker had gained the major's fanatic loyalty, and, once Mackenize understood the specifics of the terminal condition Eisler had been suffering from prior to the captain's intervention, a great many things fell into place. Their private little war had been temporarily suspended, but Colin knew he would have to neutralize the major and his Blackshirts before any future moves against Tucker could be implemented.

Which was certainly easier said than done.

"I want a flight plan that'll steer us clear of the sensor net," the captain said, ignorant of or, more likely, simply ignoring the staring contest taking place between Mackenzie and Eisler. Tucker abruptly grimaced and turned to the Vulcan. "What?" he demanded. She blinked, as if surprised, but responded immediately.

"I am unsure if such a flight path is possible." At Tucker's look, she leaned forward and pressed a button that switched the display to something that Colin wanted to look at but couldn't while he was trying (and failing) to stare down Eisler. "As I said earlier," T'Pol declared, "logic suggests we replicate our previous route to the subspace corridor as closely as possible. Doing so will take us directly through the sensor net."

"Find us a way around it," the captain ordered tersely. "What's our status on weapons?" he asked.

"All phase cannons are operational," Eisler replied calmly, his cold eyes never leaving Mackenzie's. "We have a very limited number of torpedoes remaining, however." He finally looked away, glancing once toward Tucker. "Additionally, there is a single micro-singularity weapon aboard. It was not utilized due to a faulty guidance computer."

"Not like we needed it to burn those fuckers," Hsiao said with a snicker.

"I have a suggestion regarding the sensor net," Eisler continued. He immediately launched into an explanation of his idea, which allowed Colin to partially tune him out while he turned over plans in his mind. Once they were clear of this mess – and he had no doubt that they would survive; Tucker was harder to kill than a cockroach, and that seemed doubly true now that T'Pol was fully recovered – the undeclared truce would end, and Mackenzie would need to be ready to act. It had not escaped his notice how often the Vulcan and Eisler teamed up, and Colin knew it was only a matter of time before they convinced the captain to move against him. With each day that passed, he could feel his power base slipping away; if they weren't simply neutralized by Eisler's Blackshirts, they were suborned by Tucker's surprising charisma and leadership style. Time was running out and Mackenzie knew he needed to move quickly. Ideally, he needed a plan that could take all three of them out at the same time – four if Hess remained intractable – but doing so would require more finesse than Colin suspected he was capable of.

What he really needed, Mackenzie mused with a slight smile, was a fool.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Daniel Hsiao was no fool.

Oh, he knew most of his crewmates thought him so, but that was entirely intentional on his part. Since joining Starfleet, he had carefully cultivated an image of sloppiness and ignorance, of obliviousness and slothful incompetence. No one paid attention to a moron, after all, and he had learned more about the crew's true dynamics by pretending to be an idiot than a genius. Did the captain or the COB know that Anna Hess had been carefully (and slowly) establishing her own power base with her seemingly hedonistic life style that was actually a cover for a frighteningly intelligent woman? Or that she had been spending most nights in Major Eisler's cabin (which was frankly a surprise as it was almost common knowledge the man's pain and pleasure centers had been burned out years ago)? Or that Doctor Soong was covertly reporting to someone very high up in Earthdome, and was very intentionally playing all sides against one another?

None of them noticed … but Hsiao did.

Fighting the ridiculous urge to smile at the tangent of his thoughts, Daniel shifted in his seat and forced himself to focus on the display in front of him. _Endeavour _was six minutes away from making a potentially suicidal end run for the subspace corridor – if it was even still there – and Hsiao knew he would need every scrap of skill to keep them alive. He couldn't let himself be distracted by his own plans, not now when they were heartbeats away from death or capture. In an attempt to get his fingers as loose and as nimble as possible, Daniel began popping his knuckles.

"Final torpedo away," Eisler announced from the tactical board. The captain grunted, but made no other remark, and Hsiao blew out a deep breath as he studied his sensor feed. There was no obvious sign of the fifteen torpedoes racing through the silent void of space like hungry sharks; none of them were actively seeking targets, but were instead programmed to follow a certain trajectory for a specific amount of time and _then _go active with their rudimentary sensors. Against the dangerously advanced Xindi ships prowling the system, the ordnance wouldn't be particularly effective – it would be like spitting against a wall – but fifteen active mass signatures appearing at once would hopefully cause confusion.

"Five minutes," The Vulcan commander declared. She sounded calm, collected and totally in control, a far cry from the broken woman who had been come aboard the ship almost a year earlier. If he hadn't been so focused on mentally preparing himself for the coming chaos, Daniel would have let his eyes wander to the reflective surface of his control panel so he could watch _Endeavour's_ first mate. It was a pity she would have to die alongside Tucker when Hsiao finally made his move; he'd always wondered what sex with a Vulcan female was like and she was certainly one of the most attractive women he'd ever met, but the way she followed Tucker like a good little dog made it pretty clear where her loyalties were.

"All departments," the captain ordered harshly, "stand by for combat maneuvers."

"Acknowledged," Marie replied from her station. Daniel gave her a sidelong glance, noting with dark humor how quickly she averted her eyes from him. After this was over, he would have to talk to her about that, to remind her that _he _was in charge. If she didn't want her dark secret about the late and unlamented Andorian, Drahn, how _she _had murdered the engineer in his bed because he was double-dipping with the then-first officer, Commander Hernandez, to be revealed, Marie would need to remember her place. He let a smile stretch his lips – it had been too long since he had really found a reason to … punish her, and this was as good as anything else he might come up with. It would reinforce her fear and keep the simmering hatred she had for him under wraps. Eventually, he'd have to come up with a more permanent solution – perhaps after he'd discovered a way to break Hess and turn her talents toward his goals – but, for now, it would do.

"Four minutes." The Vulcan's cool voice broke him out of his momentary reverie and he glanced over his board. Everything was green and ready to go. He reached for the controls and let his mind go blank. It was a trick he'd picked up from a Vulcan crewman some ten years ago, a way to divorce his fear and worry from what truly needed to be done to accomplish the task before him, and if Daniel hadn't ultimately been forced to kill the untrustworthy green-blooded bastard, he might feel a hint of gratitude toward the knife-eared sonuvabitch. Probably not, though. In Hsiao's experience, the only truly safe Vulcan was a dead one.

"Ahead full," Tucker instructed an eternity later. Daniel reacted instinctively, feeding power to _Endeavour's_ oversized maneuvering drive. With a muted growl, the ship leaped forward, curving around the hot Jupiter under Hsiao's firm control. Even at this distance, movement could be seen as the Xindi reinforcements swarmed around their devastated homeworld and once again, Daniel had to push down the urge to grin – it had been altogether too satisfying to watch the micro-singularity weapons being dropped on a living world and he wondered how long until they were turned against Andor or Vulcan. Now _that_ would be a wonderful day to behold…

The main viewscreen abruptly changed to a digital display of the sensor net stretching across the system and linking the various Xindi ships together. Daniel was immediately reminded of a spider's web, although this web was invisible, intangible and appeared to have no holes in it at all, so his analogy kind of fell apart. He grimaced and tightened his grip on the flight stick – if something didn't change quickly, this was going to be a very short trip. How the first officer managed to acquire such a detailed analysis of the sensor net without using active scans he neither knew nor really cared to learn. Yes, it was a terrible shame she would have to die…

"Incoming signal," Marie announced. "All torpedoes active and seeking."

Even before Devereux finished speaking, the sensor web splintered and began breaking apart as most of the ships involved reoriented the bulk of their detection arrays in the direction of the new contacts. Daniel flashed a grin as he began inputting new instructions and aimed _Endeavour _toward a particularly narrow window of opportunity.

"Abort," The Vulcan commander ordered sharply as _Endeavour _responded to his commands and banked. "I am uploading the flight path you should follow."

"Don't tell me how to do my job," Hsiao growled. He knew it was dangerous to ignore the Vulcan, especially here on the bridge, but the implied slight regarding his skills stoked the fury simmering within his chest and short-circuited his common sense. It was a flaw of his that had gotten him into trouble numerous times in the past, and one of his old mentors had accused him of sometimes reacting without thinking. Of course, that mentor was long dead, the victim of a tragic accident involving a power loader, a drugged up crewman, and the detonation of a prematurely armed warhead…

Barely a second after the words left his mouth, Daniel's board went dark and he could feel the artificial gravity struggle to compensate as _Endeavour _radically changed approach vectors. It took a long moment for him to realize what had happened and he half-spun in his seat to pin the Vulcan with a dark glare. She ignored him completely while continuing to input new instructions to the helm … from _her_ station. Hsiao swallowed – just like Tucker and that damned cloaking device trick he'd pulled out of nowhere earlier, the Vulcan first officer had accomplished something that, according to all schematics and computer protocols, should have been patently impossible. Glancing up, the commander met his eyes with a cold, emotionless expression that nearly froze his blood and reminded him once again that, no matter what she may look like, this woman was an Alien.

"Is there a problem, Lieutenant?" Tucker demanded, his own voice low, hard and brittle. Hsiao shot a look at him, flinching less at the glare that the captain was sending him than at the fact the scarred man's shooting hand was resting atop the odd-looking weapon he never went anywhere without. Having witnessed it in use firsthand, Hsiao knew better than to test his commanding officer in this moment. Now wasn't the time for confrontations. That could come later.

"No, sir," Daniel replied before turning his attention back to the sensor feed on his display. As if by magic, the flight path that the Vulcan had outlined opened up for them even as the route Daniel had intended to take collapsed. He glowered darkly.

But kept his mouth shut.

Time crawled by with agonizing lethargy as Daniel sat quietly in front of his deactivated controls, raging impotently at how casually the Vulcan had humiliated him in front of the entire command crew. He could feel eyes upon him – Master Chief Mackenzie especially was studying the powered down flight control board with poorly concealed worry on his face, no doubt wondering how the revelation that the first officer was capable of doing this sort of thing would affect his own seditious plans – and Hsiao squirmed slightly in his seat as he fought to keep his temper under control. Gone were his concerns and fears about surviving, and in their place was a seething storm of fury. When he was done with her, that knife-eared bitch would beg for death, would beg to be released from the agony Daniel had in mind.

"Stand by for warp speed," the Vulcan whore declared an eternity later. On the main viewer, Hsiao could see that they were nearing the periphery of the system. None of the torpedoes remained operational and, just at a glance, Daniel could tell that the damage they'd inflicted was so minimal that, if the Xindi hadn't realized they were a distraction, then those damned aliens were dumber than they looked. Already, the system-wide sensor net was beginning to reform as the various craft resumed their hunt for the cloaked Starfleet ship. They had minutes only before detection was a certainty and there were at least two light destroyers within intercept range. A soft rumble echoed through _Endeavour _– it was the warp reactor coming back online – and Hsiao shot the first officer a quick glance. He barely bit back a plea to be given control back.

"T'Pol," the captain hissed from where he fidgeted in his chair. The look the Vulcan gave him almost seemed to be her usual calculated dispassion, but, as was always the case when she interacted with Tucker, her eyes seemed softer somehow.

"Engaging warp drive … now," she declared. The soft grumble transformed into a muted roar as _Endeavour _sprang away from the Xindi star system, evidently still undetected. A whisper of excitement filled the bridge as officers and crewmembers began to relax. "There appears to be no pursuit," the Vulcan said.

"How long until…" Tucker began, but the first officer continued over him, as if he hadn't even opened his mouth.

"Correction," the Vulcan said sharply. "Two Xindi warships have detected us." On the main viewscreen, Hsiao could see the two light destroyers abruptly change course and begin pursuing them. "Estimate maximum of two minutes to intercept." Tucker opened his mouth to ask something else, but once more, the first officer continued over him. "At our present velocity," she said, "the subspace corridor is thirteen minutes away."

"Weapons range in one minute, forty seconds," Eisler announced.

"Crank it up," the captain ordered. He must have made a hand gesture to the Vulcan that Daniel didn't see because a heartbeat later, the flight control board lit up once more. "Tucker to Engineering. Kill the cloak and stand by for maximum warp."

"But, sir!" Hess' voice erupted from the speakers, tiny and distorted.

"That's an order!" Tucker snapped. "Lieutenant Hsiao, stand by for emergency maneuvers." His eyes flashing, Daniel wrapped his fingers around the flight stick. He demanded more power and slowly, ever so slowly, it began trickling in. The numbers on his console flashed brightly – warp four point five, point six, point seven, point eight. Around them, _Endeavour _began trembling as the warp field fluctuated. A loud chime echoed – warp factor five – but still Hsiao pressed on.

"Hostiles have increased speed," the Vulcan said flatly. "Weapons range in forty seconds."

There was more chatter between the command crew as they sounded off with status reports, but Daniel didn't hear them. He was too focused on his own console, on the distance remaining between their destination and the imbalance in the warp field. If his calculations were right, he had twenty seconds at five point three before the port nacelle completely failed … but that would be _just _enough to get them within striking distance of the subspace corridor. He considered, then nodded to himself.

And accelerated to warp factor five point three.

Alarms began howling almost at once, and he was vaguely aware of the captain shouting something, but Daniel ignored the man and continued to concentrate on his goal. He glanced quickly at the small sensor display on his console and frowned – the Xindi were within firing range so why weren't they shooting?

Almost the instant the thought crossed his mind, the two light destroyers opened up with their directed energy weapons, filling the void around _Endeavour _with a blistering storm of fire. _Endeavour _rocked as two immensely powerful blasts slammed into the protective force screen enveloping the Starfleet vessel. Hsiao's console chirped and the automatic cut-off system kicked in, dropping them out of warp speed with a violent shudder. Sparks erupted around him as power conduits ruptured, but that wasn't important. The subspace corridor was within reach.

"Shields are failing!" the Vulcan exclaimed, even as _Endeavour _rocked under another onslaught from the arriving Xindi ships. Cursing darkly, Daniel twisted hard on the yoke, inverting the warship and sending it into a steep dive that capitalized on their sole advantage against their pursuers: maneuverability.

"Tactical!" the captain shouted. "Stand by to deploy singularity bomb!" Hsiao risked a quick glance at his commanding officer – was the man insane? The MSW was a weapon to be used against planetary targets, not starships! – but quickly refocused his full attention on staying alive. Sweat crawled down his back as he rolled _Endeavour, _reorienting it toward the subspace corridor. The engines howled with protest as he demanded more power, and emergency alerts began flashing upon his screens as core containment neared collapse. They had one chance at this…

And three seconds later, exactly as it had the first time they passed the event horizon of the subspace corridor, Daniel's board went haywire.

"Drop it now!" Tucker ordered the instant the lights dimmed and Eisler reacted without hesitation. On his screens, Hsiao could detect the MSW's deployment from the aft launch bay. Mere seconds after being ejected into the void, the warheads detonated and the sudden formation of multiple singularity points within the subspace corridor was positively catastrophic. What had been a semi-stable wormhole between points in time and space became a swirling maelstrom of chaos and energy. Ribbons of green-white exploded outward, smashing into _Endeavour _with crushing force that tore through the hull polarization system, before just as abruptly being sucked into the vortex as the corridor imploded.

One of the Xindi destroyers was halfway through the conduit when it collapsed, and the abrupt severing of the spatial conduit sliced the warship in half so cleanly that some of the bodies spilling out into the void were still trying to accomplish their shipboard duties. The starship lost power almost immediately although it continued along its previous path, still vomiting oxygen and Xindi into the hard vacuum. No matter how hard he tried, Daniel couldn't tear his eyes from the shattered wreck.

It was beautiful.

"Status," the captain demanded sharply, his words breaking the unusual silence that had descended upon the bridge.

"Multiple hull breaches," Master Chief Mackenzie replied as Hsiao automatically began consulting his console for damage reports from flight ops. "Engineering reports port nacelle has failed. Warp reactor currently offline."

"No additional sensor contacts," the Vulcan said a moment later. Tucker grunted.

"The Xindi ship?"

"Adrift," the first officer answered, "but powerless."

"Captain," Major Eisler began, but Tucker interrupted.

"Approved," he said. "But hold off for a while. Make sure they're all dead, and then send a salvage team over."

"Yes, sir." The MACO sounded giddy, if that was even possible.

"Stand down to condition yellow," Tucker continued after a long moment of silence. "I want a full damage report in one hour." He stood and gave the Vulcan a flat look that she returned calmly, a hint of emerald crawling up the back of her neck. To Hsiao's surprise, she rose to her feet as well, as if Tucker had actually issued an order. "You have the bridge, Major," the captain said as he and his non-human first mate walked toward the turbolift. Daniel discreetly watched them depart before exhaling softly. He glanced back at his console but suddenly felt a powerful hand clamp down on his shoulder.

"Do not think that I have forgotten your actions, Lieutenant," Major Eisler growled, his grip nearly as implacable as the darkness in his eyes. The hiss of a hypospray at his neck was Hsiao's only warning before the blood in his veins seemed to catch fire. He toppled out of his seat, unable to even scream as his muscles – _all _of them – suddenly locked up. "Insubordination and general misconduct during a combat engagement carries with it a harsh penalty," the major continued, his voice seeming to echo from an unfathomable distance away. "You are fortunate we still have need of your expertise," Eisler growled. "Take him to the agony booth," he ordered darkly, speaking to someone Hsiao couldn't see through the haze of agony. "I will be along shortly."

And, as his arms were seized and he was lifted up from the ground, the last thing Daniel Hsiao saw was Master Chief Colin Mackenzie watching him.

* * *

><p>AN 2:

**BnB **- 1) Empress Sato was using T'Pol as a hostage. A "move against me and she dies" sort of thing. And Tucker's smarts are in different arenas than Sato's. He's no good at playing the game of thrones and Sato rules at it (literally.) So it isn't correct to say he's smarter than she is. 2) The mating bond _isn't_ in the database for the same reason pon farr isn't - Vulcans don't talk about it and are good at keeping it quiet. So Tucker doesn't know about it and if Soong does, he's not going to mention it. If you look at T'Pol in the RU, she identified the mating bond as something that is almost a myth. 3) A good question and one I don't really have an answer to. He's emotionally screwed up, if that helps.

**Alelou **- FYI, T'Pol's not reading the MU Kir'Shara, she's reading the RU one which was yanked from _Defiant's _database. As to Cole, well, it _is _the Mirror Universe and I always thought it would be amusing if they ended up being decent friends in the RU. Not because of any crack!ship (coughamandasovalcough), but just because I thought it would be funny.

**Zero **- Mac isn't hated by everyone, just key members of the command structure (and the Blackshirts.) He's got the admin people behind him, and the cooks, and the quartermasters, and so on.


End file.
